I am a junior in college, spending the past four semesters at a school two hours away from home. I have gone to sleep away camp for eight weeks during the summer for a consecutive five years. I studied abroad in London, 3,500 miles away for four months. Would you believe me if I said I was a homebody?
Ever since I was a child, leaving home was never something that came easy to me. The anxiety of being stripped of the security I felt in my own home barricaded me from so many opportunities. The withdrawals I felt after leaving my mom and dad even if it was just for a couple of days made it difficult for me to go off on my own sometimes.
I still vividly remember my first sleepover, at the end of the col-de-sac of my own street, walking distance from my own home. I must have been four or five years old, a kindergartener in elementary school. The girl’s house I was sleeping over was my best friend at the time; her parents were like my second mom and dad. I had been in her house almost as much as I had been in my own, I was comfortable there, I knew it like the back of my hand. And yet, that night I kicked and screamed, hoping my mom would hear me from down the block, hoping that someone would take me home so I could be tucked into my own bed down the hall from my parents room. The sleepover was an experiment my parents carefully organized to see how well I would do, as I did not have a good streak when it came to behavior when leaving their sides. All in all, the experiment was not a success.
I cry a lot. In terms of sleep away camp, I cried before, during, and after every summer for the first three years. The final two years, it was just before. The past three semesters I attended at the University at Albany, I sobbed when saying goodbye to my family, especially my first year as a freshman. And even now, leaving my home just yesterday, I shed a few tears when saying farewell to my family. Going to London, however, was the worst. I cried months before and a whole lot the week of my flight overseas. But my tears were no indication of how excited I was to go on these adventures and experience the things I did. I have nothing else to attribute the sadness to other than being a homebody, and even in my gloom I was still excited for what was to come.
The moral of the story is it is ok to miss home; it is actually great if you do. It is perfectly acceptable to miss your family and friends and all things familiar. I am the first to admit, it is the ultimate struggle to step outside of your comfort zone, to think outside of the box, and to go out and do something you would not normally do. Whether you are a freshman in college, a potential study abroad student, or someone who needs a little nudge, I was in your shoes once. I know how you feel. But do not let those fears and the discomfort hold you back from the great experiences you have the capability to of going on. We snuggle up to anything that feels safe and routine, but sometimes being vulnerable can lead you to something great.
