Moving On

Hi everyone, it’s good to be back with a new post! Since the last blog I uploaded, I was forces to move back in with my parents to avoid going into debt. If I’m honest, this came with a lot of mixed emotions. On one hand, not paying rent and only chipping in for groceries is great, and I have a lot of fun joking around and playing card games with my parents. On the other hand, it was a difficult loss of independence, and coming back after years apart gives you the opportunity, whether you like it or not, to see them in a new light. You’re all adults, and that feeling of ‘you’re my parent and can do no wrong’ has faded. If it was there to begin with, I’m sure many of you didn’t need as much time to see that parents are just as flawed as everyone else. If you haven’t reached that conclusion, boy do I have news for you. (Sorry!)

The final straw I suppose keeping up the façade was when I realised that my dad doesn’t like to apologise. He some something to me that was out of line, and so I called him out and explained why it was inappropriate, and he couldn’t bring himself to even acknowledge what I was saying. Instead, he avoided interacting with me for a few days, then acted like it had never even happened. When I was younger, I always saw this behaviour as normal – he was giving me space to get over my anger. Obviously, that’s not particularly healthy. To make things more interesting, he brought me the best beard oil he could find, as a peace offering, which was bizarre! I just wanted a simple apology.

I can’t spend this whole time complaining, because he’s also been supportive despite the circumstances, helping me to get my car sorted and subtly taking me out for lunch to keep me from another day eating white bread and two minute noodles. All in all, it’s just a strange thing to move home.

My parents moved houses after I moved out, so ‘coming home’ doesn’t have quite the same feeling of regression. I’m reminded of my situation by actions (and constant company), so I can’t imagine going back to your childhood room. Especially if it’s relatively untouched, posters, toys, knick-knacks aplenty! A friend on mine still had his race car bed frame! At 27, no less. Although, on the flip side, some of my friends found that moving home into their old rooms reconnected them with old hobbies and interests, so it was almost exciting. Each to their own, I suppose.

Well, what a rant! I usually pride myself on coherency, but you’ll have to give me a pass this time. Not only that, let me know if you can relate!