Still Living at Home

Withholding judgment — for myself and others.

In the months leading up to graduation, living at home again was basically unthinkable to me. What was the point of my parents and grandparents saving up so much money for my education if I was just going to rely on them again? What was the point of my multiple unpaid internships throughout college if they didn’t lead toward a job I could support myself with? This desire for self-reliance partly prompted my application to and subsequent acceptance into the Peace Corps, with a departure date just a month after graduation.

Long story short (maybe a tale for another article), through no fault of my own, the Peace Corps informed me a couple of weeks before the departure date that I would, in fact, not be moving to Ecuador for two-plus years. I had no back-up plan; I didn’t think I’d need one.

I had been interested in the Peace Corps since middle school. I had spent countless dollars and hours getting everything in order for departure. I had even had an elective surgery to be approved.

But despite all that, I didn’t even process this loss. The next day, I was already applying for jobs in different states. What seemed more important was finding a steady job and moving out.

…14 months later, I’m still here. At home with my parents, making some money, but nothing substantial enough to define self-sufficiency.

But surprisingly for me and I’m sure others, even if I did have a more solid income, I don’t think I’d be jumping at the chance to leave.

Moving during a pandemic could be potentially unsafe, depending on the length and mode of travel. And when your bubble should be confined to just your housemates, living with strangers or on my own sounds lonely; even when I lived with friends in college, I ate a lot more meals alone than I would have with my family.

But also? I honestly like living at home. Is that so bad?

Do I want this situation to last indefinitely? No. Is watching Little House on the Prairie three times a week with my parents how I imagined spending my early twenties? Also no.

But I’m fortunate enough to have parents who I get along with, are appropriately lenient given my age, and are allowing me to stay as long as is needed. To scorn what I have just to indicate I value self-sufficiency seems unfair and ungrateful.

I know many are not so lucky in the parental department. For example, at beginning of the pandemic, some young adults had no other option but to move back home, even if their parents are abusive, transphobic, homophobic, or otherwise harmful.

Many people, however, are in the same boat of living at home. A very recent study cited that in the States, “52 percent of adults between the ages of 18 and 29 now live with their parents,” higher than the rate at the end of the Great Depression.

Of course, without a combination recession/pandemic, far fewer young adults would be living at home. But beyond catastrophic worldwide events, there are plenty of valid reasons to live at home past what is deemed “acceptable.” I have several friends ranging in age who live with their parents due to reasons such as chronic illness, cultural expectations, and high rents that pose concern even with a reasonable salary.

Outside of recent events or the 2008 recession, other factors are relevant in young people’s gravitation toward living at home: stronger intergenerational relationships; a decrease in marriage among newer parents, prompting a desire for more help in raising children; the rising age of those who do get married; and a job market that allows fewer pathways to financial stability.

Clearly, some of those circumstances are more preferable than others. But some aspects, such as the fact that many parents and children are becoming so close that they want to live together, should be celebrated. If a parent-child relationship is so healthy that it provides security and comfort, without stifling personal growth or privacy, a continuation of living together seems like a reasonable conclusion.

It shouldn’t have taken a global pandemic to lessen the societal shame of living at home as an adult, but perhaps the sheer number of adults living at home now will help normalize such behavior, no matter what the reason.

Living at home shouldn’t be a perpetual crutch. And it is obviously not ideal for every family. But expecting young adults to have everything together right after high school, or even college, seems emblematic of the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality that does more harm than good. Sometimes, we just need support, and even if not, there’s no shame in embracing the value found in a community of those who love us.

Personally, I wouldn’t want to live out the opposite ideal in some cultures, where it’s expected to live with your parents until marriage, but who am I to criticize anyone else’s choices? In any culture, so long as both the parents and kids get along, respect boundaries, and communicate expectations over how long the child will be staying and what their financial and household duties are, there is no “right” time to move out.

If I had ended up living in Ecuador until spring of 2022, and especially if I had never moved back or lived near home again, I wonder what trajectory my relationship with my parents would have taken. Having ample time during the pandemic to spend time with those in my house, I’ve been able to grow closer with my parents. At least in my experience, by the time I was old enough for my parents to seem more relatable, I was busy with high school and friends, and then was away at college most of the time. Now, it seems easier to connect with my parents when solidly established as an adult.

This feeling is backed by the research psychology professor Jeffrey Jensen Arnett has conducted; “whereas teens are prone to hiding parts of themselves from their parents, emerging adults are usually more forthcoming,” generally allowing for a more easygoing and understanding relationship on both sides.

As much as I am defending the prospect of adult children living with their parents, I will admit I do have a stack of boxes and a packed suitcase primed by my bedroom door in anticipation of my moving out. I like imagining how I’d decorate a place of my own, what I’d do as a truly independent adult in a big city.

But those desires are more rooted in idealism, like imagining numerous international trips post-pandemic. I realize that my daydreams are tinted with rose. There are pros and cons to any living situation.

I don’t know exactly where I’d move out to yet, but cities across the country are on my radar, and I know something would be missing in my relationship with my parents if I could only see them in person maybe a couple of times a year.

If it feels right for me to move so far, then so be it. For now, I’ll enjoy the upsides of being here while I can.