18 years ago, just a few weeks shy of my 21st birthday, I loaded what little furniture and few belongings I had into a moving truck and ran away from my hometown. I got married. I graduated from college. My husband and I bought a house and had a son. Last summer, we took the opportunity to move back to my hometown, a decision that kicked off a chain of highs and lows, warmth and isolation, contentedness and uncertainty.

This year has been, without a doubt, the most difficult year of my life. The highs have been mild, feeling like gentle knolls, while the lows feel like being at the bottom off a quicksand-filled canyon.

We have found ourselves (I’m in my late 30’s and my husband is in his early 40’s) completely starting over, except this time, we are starting over with an 11-year-old son. That raises the stakes quite a bit for us. Starting completely over was not part of our plan when we decided to move. I have spent most of our time here scared and ashamed while facing the realization that moving might turn out to be the worst mistake we have ever made.

We’ve spent the last year as a part of the nation’s “hidden homeless” population. We aren’t living in the street, but we don’t have secure housing of our own. This is due to myriad factors, but the current (read – nonexistent) real estate market in our little town has made it extremely difficult for us to find suitable housing that we can afford on teachers’ salaries. For me, almost all of the lows stem from not having a home to retreat to at the end of a difficult day at work. As an introvert, time alone is what resets my brain, but not having a home of our own means not having anywhere to be alone.

The highs are subtle, but somehow they’re enough to help me make it through the lows. The sunrises here can be breathtaking. The thunderstorms are spectacular if they don’t scare you into hiding in the basement. My husband and son are happily exploring the local fishing scene, and the fishing is good. The sense of community and the kindness of relative strangers have brought tears to my eyes more than once. Every now and then, I hear proof that a hint of my native, Appalachian accent has crept into my son’s own dialect.

And still, I feel lost and homesick for our old life in our old home.