Moving back to California has been one of the most defining transitions of my life. As January fades and February settles in, the rush of resolutions gives way to quieter reflections. It’s in these moments that I often think about the times I’ve left something behind, only to find my way back to it.
The first time I moved out west, I was chasing sunshine, adventure, and the promise of freedom. And it delivered! California didn’t just offer beautiful landscapes; it gave me the space to discover who I was. Away from everything and everyone I knew, I had to ask myself: “What do I want?” Not what I’d been told to want, but what genuinely mattered to me. And the answers surprised me.
I realized I didn’t want the traditional life I had always imagined. In California, I met people who questioned the same things I did–women who weren’t sure about having kids, who pushed back against societal expectations, who fully embraced their sexuality and autonomy. It was refreshing, liberating, and necessary. I cannot imagine who I would be today without that shift.
But even as I was finding myself I felt like something was missing. I wanted to build something real, something that felt like mine. And to do that, I needed a reset.
So I made the tough decision to leave. I moved back home to Florida to start my business–the seed that would eventually grow into saymore.
Moving back in with my parents was harder than I expected. I had just started feeling like the most me I'd ever been, and suddenly I was back in a space that brought up old patterns and family dynamics I thought I had outgrown. It felt like rewinding when I was supposed to be moving forward. But I knew it was a necessary step.
Starting a business from scratch wasn’t just a logistical challenge; it was an emotional one. Every day, I had to remind myself that I was planting seeds for something bigger, even if all I could see in the moment was dirt. There were days it felt like nothing was happening, like I had hit pause on my life while everyone else around me was fast-forwarding. But growth isn’t linear, and taking a break sometimes feels like failure when really, it’s all just part of the process.
I always knew I would come back to California. There was never a question about that. But surprisingly, coming back wasn’t as seamless as I imagined. I expected to step back into my old life but instead, I found myself standing in the middle of something familiar that no longer fit me in the same way.
Nostalgia is tricky like that. It makes you miss versions of yourself that don’t exist anymore. I found myself longing for the person I was when I first arrived on the West Coast years ago: the excitement, the fresh start, the sense of possibility. But I wasn’t that person anymore, and that was both unsettling and empowering.
Coming back has been an adjustment in ways I didn’t expect. It’s been a mix of collision of past and present —a reminder of who I was and proof of how much I’ve changed. I can’t just pick up where I left off, and that’s okay. Maybe that’s the whole point.
Moving west taught me to be honest with myself. Leaving taught me resilience. Returning has taught me how to hold space for every version of myself–the one who was searching, the one who was building, and the one who is still figuring things out.
Maybe you can always come home, but you can’t ever go back. Maybe you’re also not supposed to. Life has a way of bringing us full circle, not so we can relive the past, but so we can see how far we’ve come. I’m proud to say that every part of my journey—the highs, the lows, the moments of doubt, the breakthroughs—has shaped me into the person I am today.
Leaving a place you love and coming back to it can be confusing, but maybe life’s only certainty is that it will rarely look like what we imagined. Personally, that has been revealed to me over and over again.
Have you ever returned to a place that deeply shaped you? What was it like to revisit it as someone who had grown and changed? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
