Everything that happens when you move back home after college
You tell yourself you’re ‘saving so much money’
Liz KussmanI loved college. It was amazing. I was independent and free to make my own decisions. I was finally an adult, which meant I could lie around all day in my underwear, eating cereal and milk without eliciting any concern. Then I moved home and found out I wasn’t really an adult. In fact, according to my parents, everything was wrong with me: my eating habits, my sleep schedule and even some of my friends.
Like many city natives, I thought moving in with my parents after graduation was a good financial decision. We’re saving so much money, we tell ourselves. And sure, we’re not paying rent. But we’re paying in a very different way.
We are shamed for staying out late
Gone are the mornings when I had the luxury of nursing my hangover in private. Now I must do it in front of the two people who raised me, both of whom take me aside and ask when I will learn to “nurse a drink.”
Nothing is stress-free or spur of the moment
There’s no such thing as making last minute plans, because my parents need to know if I’ll be home for dinner. Also, did I go out two weekend nights in a row? I’m “burning the candle at both ends.” Is it below 40 degrees? Or raining? I better stay home all day or I’ll wind up with the flu. Actually, I’m probably already sick. My parents are always stressed, and now I am, too.
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Our parents trying to keep up with pop culture is the biggest joke of our lives
My dad asked if Rihanna was married to Kanye West the other day.
Suddenly, there is such a thing as ‘staying up too late’
My mom thinks a light on in my room at 3am is cause for extreme concern. Am I okay? Am I going through something and need to talk? No mom, I’m just hanging out reading The Fault In Our Stars and bawling my eyes out, and this is just as good a time as any, okay?
The feeling we’re not really adults
Mostly because I still expect my mom to schedule my next dentist appointment. And to know what kind of insurance I have. Because I certainly don’t.
We get a lot of opinions
My parents seem to have confused themselves for a panel of judges fit to commentate on my love life. My dad often wonders aloud why I don’t have a boyfriend and likes to declare who is a schmuck and who isn’t a schmuck. My mom likes to go through my bank statements and let me know how wasteful I am for enjoying something other than the instant coffee she makes at home. Sure, we get a lot of support – financial and otherwise – living at home. But we also get a lot of opinions.
We are a little self-conscious about it
If my living arrangements come up, I feel the overwhelming need to emphasize that I’m saving “sooo much money” lest someone think I am unstable and can’t live on my own. I swear I lived independently for four years of college – even if my parents don’t seem to have realized this.
Our parents will speculate about everything we do (or don’t do)
Since I’ve moved home, my mother has lost sleep speculating that I may be any combination of the following: an alcoholic, a closeted lesbian, anemic, overweight, too picky with men, not picky enough with men, etc.
My academic bookshelf wasn’t doing me any favors
Our love life is worse than yours
We can’t bring anyone home unless we also want them to meet our parents. And I have quickly learned that hooking up in the backseat of a car is an experience meant to be left behind in high school (or, at the very least, in movies about high school where the actors are all in their 30s). I have also quickly learned I am no longer the size I was in high school.
We have to be a little dishonest
I am an honest person. I hate lying. But maybe I don’t want to tell my parents I went on another Tinder date this week. Maybe I don’t want to tell anyone, because what if nothing comes of it and two months from now my mother asks: “What ever happened to Seth whose mother is a dentist?” and I will remember that Seth whose mother is a dentist got really drunk and tried to finger me on the street. So the only way to avoid being blindsided by follow up questions is to lie in the first place. And then feel guilty. There is no way to win.
We have to hide certain things
There’s an irrational need to hide all lighters, even if their genuine purpose is for lighting candles. And any lingerie I may own is crumpled up in the back of my dresser or stuffed into a shoe somewhere.
There will be a lot of unnecessary arguments
Like when my mom walks into my room unannounced, asks me something, then walks out and complains I’m talking to her from another room.
We’ve saved money, but we haven’t become smart about it
A $6 iced coffee seems reasonable since I’m not paying rent, right?
Is it possible my dad doesn’t love living with me either?