Before I begin writing (moaning) I would like to make a few facts clear:
1. I love my Mum and Dad.
2. I’m blessed that I’ve got a roof over my head.
3. I know that facts 1 and 2 make me lucky, and I’m very grateful.
However, there comes a point (or maybe several) when living at home with your parents when your 27 just seems a little bit unbearable.
For example, when you’ve been away for the weekend and you just want some space, but instead keep on getting bombarded with questions as soon as you walk through the door.
“Did you have a good time??”
“Have you got a hangover? Well you won’t get any sympathy from me!”
“How was everything?”
“What was the weather like?”
“Are you in for tea this week?”
“What are your plans tomorrow?”
And so the interrogation continues…
I don’t want to be rude, yet I can feel myself reverting into my 15 year old self, who would always reply with monosyllabic answers. I feel bad for slouching off to my room to watch my mindless TV programmes, but I need my space.
I don’t want to be nagged about eating my 5 fruit and veg every day, or to be told I should go out and get some fresh air. I want to make my own mind up! Equally I’m sure my parents don’t enjoy the stale smell of smoke radiating from my clothes, or the constant mess in my bedroom. They don’t want to be hearing me crash into the house at 2 o’clock in the morning, and then see me fester in my pyjamas the next day. I bet they didn’t imagine one of their daughters to still be living at home at 27.
And it would seem that I’m not the only person in their late twenties who is trapped in this weird living situation. I can think of at least 5 of my friends who are in a similar situation, which does make me feel slightly better. It would seem the credit crunch has crunched us all back into our parents’ house.
By comparing myself to other friends and acquaintances though, I find myself growing green with envy. People who have their own flats or houses, a haven of tranquillity all to themselves. As I look at these people’s lives, the black dog tells me I’m a failure for not achieving this. For not having a job or the money to move out, for being weak and a loser, for allowing myself to get depression. (Although I know the last one is untrue, the black dog likes to twist things and make me believe them.)
So how do I try and make this situation better? Well, for one thing I cook my own food now. A small change that allows me some independence and control. I also try not to ask their opinion on everything I do. This habit has come about mainly through my illness as I’ve needed their help and guidance. However, it’s not helpful for them (as it makes them feel like I’m younger than I am) and it’s not helpful for me either (as I come to rely on them too much.)
I know the situation isn’t going to change in the immediate future, but I have to hold on hope that at some point it will. And for now, maybe I’m just stuck with being a 27 year old teenager.