My van isn’t a perfect build... it’s a living creature.
A wandering den of wool, reflectix, warm breath, and two orange gods who insist I rise each morning because they want breakfast right now.

I didn’t end up here from “bad choices.”
I ended up here because I tried to live with my abusive parents while managing epilepsy...and when I spoke up about the way they treated foster kids, they threw me off their land.
So I left with the only family that never betrayed me: my boys.

For two years it’s been me, Tip, and Henry, cobbling together a life in this worn Dodge Caravan like three little vikings in a steel longship.

The walls are patched with reflectix.
The floor is layered in carpet and topped with a fleece blanket I can yank out and wash when the mud wins.
The back is our sleeping den ...a nest of blankets, crates, heaters, and the soft thrum of purring when the wind claws at the windows.

The front is the command center.
A place to drive, watch the snow drift over Lake Michigan, stare suspiciously at strangers with my cats like a three-headed gargoyle, and ...yes...the litter box zone.
(For them, not me. Though let’s be honest, someone will still ask.)

It isn’t pretty.
It isn’t Instagram-van-life with fairy lights and teak cabinets.
It’s real survival....the kind that hums in the bones and teaches you exactly what matters.

Warmth.
Food.
Safety.
The small miracle of waking up with two tiny lions curled into you because you’re their whole world.

I’m working now. I’m saving. I’m building a better future inch by inch.
But until then… this is our little mythic home on wheels.
Messy. Improvised. Honest.
And somehow...somehow ....full of peace.

Pagan_mechanist 


Wanted to show you all how my entire van is set up inside with my two kitties, and I.