When the Familiar Fades: Learning to Find Home Again

I think the hardest part about moving isn’t the boxes or the packing tape or even saying goodbye.
It’s the unfamiliar.

Everything is unfamiliar.
The people, the food, the culture, the neighborhoods, the churches.
For someone who loves comfort, that’s hard. I’ve always found peace in the familiar — curling up with a book by the fire, knowing the roads by heart, running into the same faces at the grocery store. The comfort of predictability feels like safety to me.

When we moved, that safety was stripped away. I was suddenly the new one — the one who didn’t know where anything was, who everyone was, or how things worked. I can feel my body quietly searching for the familiar everywhere I go, scanning rooms for something that feels like home.
My mind whispers, “Is this like home?”
“Are these people like my friends in New Jersey?”

And the truth is — they’re not.
They’re different.

But different isn’t bad. It’s just… different. And I’m learning that the only thing that can make this new place start to feel like home is time. Time to build new rhythms. Time to form new friendships. Time to discover the restaurant my husband and I will one day call “our spot.”

Still, I find myself wishing I could fast-forward five years. I long for the day when the roads feel familiar, when friendships are deep and easy, when comfort comes without effort. Not having those things yet feels unsettling — like walking barefoot on unfamiliar ground.

Watching My Kids Adjust

If it’s hard for me, I can only imagine what it’s like for my kids.
New Jersey is all they’ve ever known. Their childhood memories are woven into every street and park and backyard there.

And yet, I’ve watched them here — brave and open — walking into new classrooms, laughing with new friends, adapting faster than I expected. Their resilience humbles me. They seem to hold their hearts a little looser, more willing to let others in.

Maybe kids adapt faster because they haven’t built up as many walls as we adults have.
We like our routines, our comfort zones, our people.
They, on the other hand, just jump in — ready to make the best of what’s in front of them.

Letting Time Do Its Work

I know this season of “unfamiliar” won’t last forever.
One day, this will all feel like home. The new will become known. The strangers will become friends.

Until then, I’m learning to sit in the discomfort — to trust that even when I can’t see what’s ahead, God is already planting the seeds of belonging here.

Time will water them. And eventually, this too will feel like home.