11/28/22

I did not want to move out. at least not yet, that is – it’s not like it was my life’s dream to fulfill the “35 years old and living in my mom’s basement” trope. but after I graduated college, I moved back home for law school, and I loved it. I was – am – still sad about moving out, even though I know that’s the natural progression of growing up. I’m sad because part of me knows that barring death, illness, or injury, I will likely never live with my parents or live in my childhood home again. and that makes me sad.

I was surprised by the amount of scorn I was met with when I expressed not wanting to move out. “but you’re 25, it’s time to get out,” and “I could never move back in with my parents,” and “I couldn’t WAIT to get out of my house.” I recognize that relationships with parents can be nuanced and complicated and I empathize with those who truly feel like they cannot live with their parents again. but I am so, so lucky. I have a great relationship with my mom, and a great relationship with my dad. and my parents have a great relationship with each other. my family home is full of love, and light, and laughter – it is cozy and warm and it is a happy place to be. that’s not to say that it isn’t absolutely chaotic – when we are at full form, my family home boasts four adults, five dogs, four cats, and five chickens. I can’t lie and say that it isn’t a nice change of pace only having to feed, care for, and corral one animal rather than fourteen animals.

I’m not alone, I know that. and I know my parents are a phone call or a car ride away. but living alone is so different and quiet and I miss the comfort that comes with being in their presence. I know that this is all probably just growing pains and I will adjust and come to really like this chapter of my life, but I think I need to stop this post now before I make myself cry.

things I am grateful for: my mom and dad; freshly washed sheets; and a sweet treat right before bed.