Can you ever really return home?

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It’s a question that came to me not long ago – at McDonald’s, in fact. Just before we sold our first home in May, I was overcome with a longing for my parents and their house in the mountains of Virginia.

So I did what any Millennial parent would do: I tried to recreate a scene from my own childhood.

We took our children to eat beneath the golden arches for the very first time. As you may have guessed, our sandwiches were edible cardboard and the kids ate very little without the aid of excessive ketchup.

Really, the moment stung. “Old McDonald’s”, as my son lovingly refers to it, only heightened feelings of isolation within me.

Could I ever experience home again?

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Take Off Your Mask and Follow Me*

Statesboro

I live in a small Southern community and every day is a masquerade. When my husband and I moved here a little over two years ago, we were greeted with some very personal questions: “When do you think you’ll leave?” and “Wait, you bought a house?” Additionally, we received some unsettling advice: “You will never fit in here” and “Don’t raise your children here”.

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