My partner’s family lived what could be considered the American Dream: a two-story house complete with a basement and a sprawling backyard. Still, here I was, venting to the therapist about how miserable I was, even if it was the first time I felt like I had a chance at establishing a permanent home for my new family. “This panic attack would have never happened if I never left Brooklyn,” I said in between sobs. “Have you ever heard of PTSD,” my therapist asked me, checking his watch to ensure we were not over time. “You mean what happens to someone after they’ve been through a war?” My mind began to connect this idea of surviving a war to my personal experiences surviving housing insecurity. “Exactly,” my therapist replied. I left this visit with new information about the trauma that people who have experienced housing insecurity face and how displacement is its own kind of war zone.