There is nothing quite like living with a parent when you are an adult to make you feel like a fucking child.
I have a number of friend people in a similar situation to me. Finding themselves in a space in their life where they have had to either move back home or simply share accommodations with a parent. It seems to be increasingly more common.
Once upon a time, I thought it was a reflection of bad life choice but now I think it is simply down to shitty economic conditions.
I honestly don’t think I could survive and support my children on a single income. Renting is killer. Food is a necessary evil. Utilities drain what is left and if you don’t want to live like a complete fucking hermit, devoid of all human interaction, you also need internet/phone and the like…
Living with a parent can be seriously draining.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my folks. They are amazing people. They are supportive and kind. I just think it is difficult to stop being a parent even when your children are no longer children.
I have talked to my bestie about this before. As she lives with her parents also. We have both vowed to never do some of the things that are being done to us if/when our children find themselves back home.
Personal space is my big issue. I just want alone time. I want to be able to go to the bathroom without being asked a question. I want to be able to be in my room without being asked what I am doing in there.
If there is a fucking closed door in between us… then I must need fucking privacy.
I get that it must be hard to step back especially when you find yourself living with one of your children again. But I think it is healthy to see them for the age they are. Recognise that they are capable. Realise that this is not their choice. If you find your child living with you as an adult it is very possible that given the choice they would choose independence. But life sometimes doesn’t give that as an option. So we have to make the most of shitty situations.
Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful. I am. But sometimes if we don’t get this shit off our chest we explode.
Now… please excuse me while I avoid being asked fifty questions about what I am making for dinner in 8 hours and passive aggressive comments because I didn’t hear him when he said that he would like a coffee and negative remarks because I have too many art supplies and can he please just throw them all out because I haven’t painted in a month…