Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I spent years searching for “home.” I believed it was an external place—a destination I could stumble upon if I just tried hard enough or looked long enough. I was convinced that once I found it, everything would finally fall into place. But somewhere along the way, I discovered a truth that changed everything: home isn’t a place. It’s a way of being.

For much of my life, I thought love was something I had to earn, something conditional and elusive. I felt like I needed to perform, to compete, to prove I was worthy of it. As a child, I learned to mold myself to what I thought others wanted from me. Later, when I joined a church, I hoped it would heal those wounds. Instead, it reinforced them. The message I internalized was clear: I had to fit a certain mold, check the right boxes, and follow a prescribed path to be worthy of love and acceptance.

Through years of inner work and unlearning long-held beliefs, I began to see the cracks in that narrative. Slowly but surely, I realized that true belonging doesn’t come from fitting in or meeting external expectations—it comes from being fully ourselves.

Home, I’ve learned, is where I can show up as my truest self, free of pretense and masks. It’s not a physical place—it’s the people, the energy, the space where I am seen, accepted, and loved just as I am. Finding a community that feels like home didn’t just happen; it came after a lot of questioning, healing, and courage to embrace who I am, flaws and all. I also found the strength to keep showing up authentically.