This is by far the hardest post I have written in a really long time. I’ve actually sat down and begun writing it about fifteen separate times, only to delete it the next day because of one reason or another. I held this story in, in the palm of my hand, in the corners of my heart, hoping that by waiting I would reach a place where I had a lesson to share, or a satisfying “AHA!” moment, or at least a funny story. But I have finally realized that is not the type of post this is supposed to be. Rather, it’s one full of frustration, of shame, of an open wound. But I’m trying to be brave.
I’m sharing it because I can’t not any longer. Because the clock is ticking. Because I’m really on edge lately, and people who don’t know are wondering why. And those that do want to know how to help and I have no answers for them either. Probably because this still seems like it shouldn’t be real. Probably because it’s finally hitting me that it is, and I can’t sit and stare at the boxes I have been collecting anymore. I have to start packing up, the dishes, the linens, my pride.
I have turned in my notice with my landlord. My lease runs out at the end of the month, and I’m moving home. And I feel awful about it. Awful that I am back in my parents house, in their personal space, with my weird schedule and crazy cat that I’m really praying does not eat their blinds. Awful that while everyone else seems to be doing well and hitting all the adult milestones, I seem to have somehow lost my footing. Awful about all the choices I’ve made, even though I thought they were the right ones. Awful about nearly every aspect of this situation.
But in an odd way, I have begun to see this reversion to living at home as maybe the most adult decision I have made in a really long time. See, I’m not good at asking for help, to put it…mildly. In fact, I’m downright awful at that too. And so that is a big step for me, not only considering moving home, but actually talking through with my parents and then actually DOING it. I’m realizing it’s probably something I should have done years ago, but back then my pride was even bigger and my mind even more stubborn. And so, in that aspect, I’m progressing. It’s a lesson that I’ve been challenged to learn for years, and now it’s finally time to dive in, headfirst.
And it’s not an all negative endeavor. I know that. It by far mostly isn’t, I promise. That’s just where my head is now, and I’m swimming like hell to get out of that tidal wave. But I am so blessed that I have parents that agreed to let me come home before I had even finished asking the question. I adore my parents, and I’m excited to spend more time with them as adults. They make me laugh until I cry, and I know for a fact that I love them more than I did as a kid. Or at least in a very different way. There’s not just love for love’s sake I feel anymore, but an appreciation: of them, and of everything they have and continue to do for me, that I will never be able to put into words.
(Also, really excited their laundry machines are not $1.75 a load.)
I’m looking forward to jump starting a new budget, which means I can leave my job at some point in the near future, rather than be trapped indefinitely, and find a job that is more fulfilling, even if I don’t know exactly what that it yet. Maybe I’ll use my Hamline degree. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be a barista again. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll have options. And any options are more options than I’ve had in the last 8 years, and that possibility sounds so amazing.
And so I’m not sure exactly what the future holds, and that in itself makes me panic, because I’ve always had a plan. Then again, this plan never included moving back home after I left at 18, and yet, here we are. And so, before my bravery ducks back into the shadows, and I delete this post too,