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When Leaving Where You Grew Up Is the Best Thing for Your Mental Health
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I used to live in Michigan for 13 years, where the cracked pavement and the thick air made my 4:30 a.m. walks to school brutal.
I lived in a hunt house on Reed St. It was located in the ghetto/slum. On a good day walking into the house you could smell spic and span, the sun lit up the root beer walls of the living room and the two orange bedrooms weren’t so bold or suffocating, the color was light.
My mom’s bedroom door was open and her bed would have been made. She would most likely be cooking her special mac n’ cheese, it was everyone’s favorite.
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