A year ago, I lost my forever home. The home I thought would always be my safe place, the space where I could build stability for me and my cats, was taken from me. He ripped it away from me and the cats. It wasn’t just a house. it was a symbol of safety, love, and the life I had worked so hard to create.
For almost a year, I lived there with care, responsibility, and hope. This wasn’t just a house. It was everything I had been working toward: stability, pride in myself, a place where I could finally feel at home in my own life. And in one cruel twist, it was taken from me and turned into someone else’s profit and control. Someone I once loved and trusted, someone who promised they would never let me be homeless, someone who told me I’d always have a home… chose money and convenience over me. Today, my dad said that he might keep my forever home in Lower Lake for himself, or rent it out.
For the past year, I’ve been essentially homeless. I was in a temporary transitional home for a few months, then have been renting a room in a house with my cats.
Losing it has been incredibly painful. It’s a loss of security, of trust, and of the promise that I could have a life that was safe and my own. I carry the grief and anger, and I’m learning to process it without letting it define my worth or my future.
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