It’s been a little difficult for me to do any personal writing lately because when I do finally have a moment to sit down and process it all, it’s just an intense outpouring of everything all at once. It ends up being a little too raw and personal or the reverse and I find myself “editing” as if everyone is reading it live, so I have to make sure not to say anything I’ll regret later. I realize that in doing so I’ve been depriving myself of expression to be who I am. Life is not a perfectly edited and filtered Instagram photo and life is not a phony upbeat blog post trying to make things sound different than they are.
So here it goes.. raw and unfiltered.
Several months ago I made the choice to move back home, but I felt embarrassed and pathetic about the notion of being twenty-eight years and starting over at home again, so I chose not to talk about it at all. Now it just seems a little ridiculous to be embarrassed or to omit that part of my life because someone somewhere could be in the exact same boat and why feel shame over something that has actually been one of the smarter moves I’ve made?
When I moved back from Oregon I needed solace and solitude. I found a rental house way out in the country and it provided exactly what I needed at the time. The lease was month to month, but I intended on staying at least 1 to 2 years. After moving so much I just wanted a place that I could call home, even if I was only renting. Unfortunately there were several ongoing issues with the house and the arrangement with the property and I realized.. this is not my home.
I had two options: #1. Be the same old stubborn and proud asshole I’ve always been and just put up with it until spring when I could move into another place during a better time of year or #2. Swallow all of that pride, move back home, and save the majority of my income to purchase MY OWN home instead of paying for someone else’s.
Option #2 seems like the easier choice, but making that decision was far from it because it felt like another gigantic failure in a long line of them that I’d already been recovering from. Just the thought of saying, “I live at home with my parents.” immediately gives me the mental image of some 40 year old loser smoking pot and playing video games in his mom’s basement while she makes him meatloaf and does his laundry. Then I realized that I am none of those things.. and I hate meatloaf for the record.. I am ME in this situation. I hit these huge walls of failure and instead of wallowing in it forever (I still wallow a little), I focus on rebuilding my life, a little wiser, a little stronger.
After I got moved and settled in I still felt pretty down about my situation (wallowing), so I grabbed a notebook, pen, and calculator and jotted down my three major goals for 2018. I assigned rough estimations of the cost for these goals and then broke it down into a monthly and bi-monthly savings plan. I’m a little bit of a control freak so making plans like these help me feel like I have a better grasp on things when life is seemingly spiraling away from me. My plan not only helped me get out of debt very quickly, but it has helped me put a comma in my savings account, something that I have NEVER been able to make happen in the decade+ that I’ve been working. It’s a small feat, but it’s one I’m extremely proud of.
I catch myself growing frustrated or placing more pressure on myself to make this savings goal happen even faster, but adding unnecessary stress won’t make more money appear in my account. My entire life I’ve been in this big hurry to do it all, see it all, and live a fulfilled life, but my pride and stubborn ways of doing it the hard way or doing it all without help has only hindered me in accomplishing more. Accepting help, making small sacrifices and compromises, and maintaining even just a little bit of faith and patience are my lessons I’m learning.
So there you have it.. I’m a 28 year old “loser” who temporarily lives at home with her parents (not in the basement I might add) and I am damn proud of it!