Ever since I moved to into a dorm that was an hour and a half away from where I lived for all eighteen years of my life, I found a new place I call home. Whenever I'm out in class, at a restaurant, at practice, or at a school event, and I say "I want to go home" or "I'm probably just heading home after this", I'm not referring to my house in the small town in Central Jersey.

My home is my dorm. My home is on campus. My home is Rowan University. And whenever I do find myself at the house where I was raised, I find it hard not to wish that I was back here.

Why is this? I can only guess it is just because I am accustomed to my life here now. My friends, my things, my work, my sport, my everything is here. And although it is nice to return to a place that is familiar and makes me think of my childhood, it no longer feels like home.

It didn't just start when I moved away for college, however. It started about a year before that, around the beginning of my senior year of high school. I had all the freedom in the world. Between school, marching band, track, my boyfriend, and having my own car to drive, I was hardly home during the weekdays. Every free moment I had I wanted to spend with my friends or my boyfriend. Consequently, I spent so little time at home that some things started to slip past me.

My dad had been a single parent for about two years at that point. Without warning, he quit his job one day and has been unemployed since. My house was a mess; a danger to him, to my siblings, to my cats, and to myself. He rarely cooked meals and more often ordered takeout or expected us to make food for ourselves with what little we had in the fridge. He often didn't leave his armchair all day, and instead napped and watched television. He left the responsibility of driving my sister to and from places up to me when I had too much going on already.

He was depressed.

A few months later, my whole life was uprooted for a short time because someone close to me had called DYFS out of fear and concern for my family and me. It took me away from school to see my counselor almost weekly. It took me away from practices when one day a social worker just showed up after school, asking to speak to me. It took me away from the carefree self I usually was. It took me away from doing things I wanted to do because any free time I possessed I had to spend cleaning my house and getting my family together. Those responsibilities fell on me because if I didn't do it, no one would have until it came to a court order.

During that time, I was full of so much stress that I got two of my periods within two weeks of each other. You didn't think that was a thing, did you? Look it up, it's real.

In the end, it didn't change anything. My house was cleaner, yes, but my dad didn't stop being depressed, especially because he refused to seek help. DYFS dropped the case because my siblings lied about how things were at home. Things didn't change at all.

Instead, they felt worse. I hadn't realized just how bad things were until DYFS was involved, and afterward, I was uncomfortable being around my family. Especially because I was the only one who knew the person that called DYFS in the first place. I tried to spend as much time out of the house as I could, but whenever I was away I was always left with this overwhelming feeling that I was being selfish and ungrateful. I felt like I couldn't talk to anyone about it.

That was the moment that my home stopped feeling like home.

The summer was better because I spent as many days and nights with my boyfriend as I could. Being out of my house was the escape that I needed. But again I felt the guilt. I knew it was my last summer before moving away to college and that my dad would want to spend as much time with me as I would allow. I was the glue holding the family together and he knew it.

When I moved out, my family didn't fall apart. I didn't expect it to, either. But I was already happier living away from them on my own because I learned at a certain point that I had to stop sacrificing my own happiness for them, and to my surprise, it worked.

Of course, I go home on the weekends occasionally, but no, I don't miss living at home. I don't have the same attachment that most of my friends here have. I miss aspects of a home, like warm meals and pets and a comfy queen-sized bed, but I don't miss the life I left behind. I call my dad about once a week to check in on everything, but I know that still not much has changed.

I am proud to call Rowan University my home, even when I'm not here. I do not regret the choices I've made or the time I've spent away because I truly feel as though now, I am free to be content.