I Live at Home…

Raise your hand if you graduated from college within the last few years. Now raise your hand if you have a job, pay bills and feel like a semi-functional member of society. Great. Finally, raise your hand if you still live with your parents.

Whether you refer to them as your “roommates” or you just leave this little detail out of daily conversation, I feel you. I love my parents. They’re great. They are fair landlords (sorry I haven’t paid rent in 8 months, Ma!). They are considerate roommates and don’t keep me up all night with the ragers they don’t throw. Living with full-blown adults definitely has perks. For me, dinner is usually made. My laundry is typically done and folded. Shit, my Dad even washed my car the other day just because he wanted to. That’s the dream, folks. I do have to shovel snow but I think that’s a fair compromise.

But there is a certain part of me that feels like I’m not a real adult yet. When people find out I live with my parents, they usually chide in with “Oh, you must save soooo much money!” or “Well that’s the smart thing to do until you establish yourself.” Let’s get something straight. I don’t save money. I pay off loans. And I consider myself fairly established. I pay my bills, I own a car, I’ve had steady employment since I graduated from college. I even see a primary care physician once a year because that is what established adults do!

I am in a constant state of dissonance when it comes to living at home. I have clearly outlined a few of the perks. But I struggle with the notion that I’m not where I should be at 25. Or more accurately, I’m not where I wanted to be at 25.  There are reminders that people my parents’ age were married and had children at my age. CHILDREN. What? Why?

I guess I’ve landed on this example of my status as an adult: I am like an adult cat. I can take care of myself, but it’s definitely for the best if someone checks in on me from time to time. So shout out to my roommates for that!

 

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