Monday, 4 June 2018

Living at Home at 26.





Something I often feel embarrassed about, even ashamed of, is having reached the grand age of 26, and I still live at home, with my mum. My childhood house is the place I still sleep, it's where I return after a long day at work, where I catch up with my family, have my tea cooked for me, and shut myself away in my single, box bedroom.


 I am very aware that this is a privilege. Some people aren't given the option to live with family, and I should count myself lucky, however, I've always imagined I'd be a little more independent when I got to my late 20s.  As lovely as having a parent cooking your meals, and doing your laundry, you get the point you feel like a child in the body of an adult, and there's a regretful cringe every time you're asked about your living situation. Sometimes, it makes me feel judged, often I feel as though my peers look down on me, think of me as a 'baby'. Of course, that is more than likely the handiwork of my own brain. Society has told me a should be a little more 'grow up' by now, and I feel as though I'm not ticking all of the boxes like I'm expected to.

With where I am at with my career, it seems it will be a while until I actually fly the nest, and I intend on buying when I do actually get that moving out stage, so naturally, that will even take longer. In other words, I'm going to be here a for a little while.



I've decided it's time to try to stop feeling ashamed, and worry about myself rather than what others might (but probably don't) think.

A lot of people I know moved out from home and decided against living with family because they felt suffocated, they didn't have a bond with their parents, there was tension as they outgrew the house which reminded them of childhood.

Here's the thing, I haven't.

If I actually think about it, without considering the stage comparison has convinced me I should be at, I do actually like living in my family home.


Although sometimes I dream up a home with Instagram perfect interiors, where I go home to my cat and cook whatever I fancy for tea. A place where every corner is entirely my own. The idea of knowing that walking around naked is an option (which I'll probably never take, but options are nice).

But when it comes down to it. I like the house I live in. I like my family, and I'm saving a shed load of money that will go into my home when the time finally comes.


I like coming home and hanging out with my Mum and Flo.
I like that I can sit in my sister's room to chill and  talk about the silliest things
I like that Flo makes me a cup of tea every morning,
and my mum cooks delicious meals coming up with meat alternatives for me.
I like that my auntie Carol comes round every Saturday.


Mostly I like the laughter. The giggles as me, Mum and Flo challenge each other to talk in different accents or have planking competition. And I like the comfortable quiet, while I sit on the kitchen side reading, and my Mum sits of the other end with her kindle.



I like that I have my own privacy at home. I can close the door of my bedroom and the world is mine and mine alone.


My mum and I are close, we've got a good bond, maybe even more so as I've older. As am I close with the rest of my family, and things aren't always perfect and sometimes I wish for a place of my very own.

I live in a home where I'm respected, and with people, I actually enjoy spending my time with.
The life my Mum has built for us is really something, and living in my family home, for now, keeps me close to that.


Is not really as bad as it once sounded, is it?


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