I didn’t want to go on about this too much, but I’ve moved out! Three and a half weeks ago Jonathan and I moved from our parent’s houses into a little house in Oakham, Rutland. The last month has been a rollercoaster and although I am finally starting to feel a little settled in my new home, I’m still getting to grips with some of the harsh realities of not being under you parent’s roof anymore. Giving at all a go myself has certainly been a shock to the system.
Whether you want to reminisce about when you first left home or if you’re gearing up to move and want some realistic preparation (something that I struggled to find), I hope that one of you reading this have felt the same kind of struggle or realisation at some point.
Here are 7 realities that have hit me in the last three and a half weeks of living under my own roof and not my parent’s:
Your parents have lives too
It’s always a shock to the system when you notice your parent’s going about their daily lives and still functioning even when you (their pride and soul) have flown the nest. A small part of me assumed that they power down as I leave the room and power back up, scuttling to their stage points when my next visit is imminent. Turns out that me leaving home is just one less thing for them have to deal with on a daily basis… who knew?
It’s far too easy to isolate yourself
Moving house is hard enough (so many new creaking floorboards to get used to), but moving to a new town/city/county is something else entirely. The strangers you pass on the street don’t seem as familiar as the ones back home, and before you know it you’ve been inside for two days and have forgotten to text your friends back because you’re too busy ‘adulting’. With no-one offering a cup of tea or complaining about the washing up, it’s a silence that’s all too easily ignored.
Cheese is expensive and you eat a lot of it
I spent £2.50 on a block of parmesan the other day and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste one single grating of it. On the other hand, I do want to eeek it out as long as possible (because blocking out £5 of your weekly budget for parmesan doesn’t seem like a sensible decision). This may just be why adults are so grumpy all the time. Less cheese on my pasta or less food money for crispy seaweed at the end of the week? Hmm.
People don’t just see you as an adult, you are one
When the person monitoring the self-service checkouts hits the ‘the customer is clearly over 25′ button a little part of me dies. I mean, I’ve always looked a little older but I am only 21 and I think that joe-checkout needs to stop insulting me. When we live at home we’re used to everyone seeing us as a work in progress (aka. a young adult), but out in the big bad world, people don’t know/don’t care and only see the possibly haggard looking woman buying some Kopperberg Fruit Lager (that’s clue enough of my age, surely).
Your time is completely your own
I mean, this one sounds positive, but I’m saying it with a layer of doom and existentialism attached. In your own space, you can completely design your 24 hours the way you like. We could get up at 4am and workout if we wanted, we could stay up all night or make overnight oats or paint the walls a bright colour. Personally, I’ve done little else than stare into the void and wonder why I’m not doing any of those things…
You’re either into cooking, or you’re not
The starkness of the fridge on a Friday night often will leave you with two options, making some sort of pasta meal with bits thrown in from everywhere, or having some more peanut buttered bread. With a chef for a boyfriend, it’s hardly surprising that I myself fall into that later category. When I lived with my parents I’d daydream about all the meals I’d make in my own kitchen, unfortunately, I didn’t factor in the fact that cooking is far from my favourite pastimes (and that eating peanut buttered bread saves a lot of time).
It’s understandable why all some people do is sleep and eat (and work)
I’m sure I’m not the only 21-year-old who’s rolled their eyes when their elders complain about being too busy or tired to explore their hobbies or follow their dreams. One month down the line of living (basically) alone and the routines of the run-down middle aged feel a lot closer to home. Running a household is easily a full-time job in itself and when you’ve spent an hour washing up, another hour fluffing cushions and another hour trying to get your lampshade to hang straight, you’re happy to call it a productive day and head to dreamland. I get it.
Please tell me that someone out there can relate to these (somewhat harsh) truths. If I’d known how tough these last three weeks would be, then I would have made sure I was a hell of a lot more prepared for the big move!
Share one reality that hit you when you left home. Leave it in the comments below so we can all feel a little better about the culture shock of fending for ourselves.
It’s nice to be back,
P.S. I really do mean that it’s nice to be back. July brings BKY back to a regular posting schedule. After a month sans blogging (kind of unplanned) I’ve realised that it’s a bit of a rock that I shouldn’t give up on just yet.