I began painting again, took on small art commissions, and got a part-time job at a coffee shop. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Six months in, my mom called. She apologized, and we met in a park. It didn’t fix everything, but it was a start. Not long after, a friend offered me her old apartment—just when I needed it most.
Living in my van taught me that losing everything can be the start of something better. Pain gave me purpose. Solitude gave me strength. If you’re struggling, remember: this moment isn’t the end of your story. Sometimes the detour is the way forward.
