Starting Over, One Day at a Time

By Emily Grant

I never imagined how quiet a house could feel until the movers drove away and I was left standing in a kitchen that didn’t smell like home. My husband’s job brought us here—a small town in the Pacific Northwest, where it rains more days than not and people seem to have known each other since kindergarten. Back in Georgia, I had a rhythm: coffee dates with friends, a church where I felt seen, and neighbors who waved from their porches.

Here, the silence felt heavier.

The first few weeks were the hardest. I missed the familiar twang of Southern accents, the sweet warmth of hospitality, even the sticky heat of August afternoons. People here are kind, but reserved, and I often find myself overthinking simple interactions, wondering if I’m being too open or just different. I’ve learned that “let’s get together sometime” doesn’t always mean it will happen soon.

Still, I’ve started taking slow steps.

I joined a local book club—even if I mostly listen for now—and I’ve been visiting churches, hoping one will feel like a place I can exhale. There’s one nearby with a women’s Bible study that I plan to try next week. I remind myself that starting over doesn’t mean starting empty. I carry pieces of home with me, and maybe, in time, this new place will hold people who feel like home too. I’m hopeful. After all, loneliness is just space waiting to be filled.