Do Not Move Back Home After Graduation No Matter What


Living in my sorority house has been the best experience of my life. Living in my parents’ house after my sorority house has been the worst. I was one of the unfortunate few who decided to come back to the nest after graduation and it was quite an adjustment. Yes, I’ll be saving a ton of money and I’m so grateful that my parents didn’t turn my room into a gift-wrapping room or sewing room or something like that, but you can’t help but feel like you’re going backward in life when you move back into your old room. In any case, I’m here, and I know I’m not the only one.

If you thought living with your parents was awful in high school, just wait until you move back in with them after college. Parents seem to forget that for four years we were on our own. We came home way too late—or not at all. We drank almost every night and regretted it every morning. We were wildly irresponsible and somehow survived it all.

Many people think a house of several college girls is a recipe for disaster and, honestly, it was. There were fights and tension and drama, but there was also laughter and love and lifelong memories. Despite the wide variety of women, my sorority’s house was a judgement-free zone. Want to pass out on the living room floor because you couldn’t make it to your bedroom? I’ll join you. Want to stay in and binge-watch a crappy show on Netflix? Awesome. Want to pretend you fell asleep until the creepy guy you brought home from the bar leaves the house? I’ll cover for you.

Moving back home was a hard punch in the face. I feel judged more in my parents’ house than I do when I request Jonas Brothers music at a bar (THEY WILL MAKE ANOTHER COMEBACK.) I can’t even go to the kitchen for a snack with no pants on without my mom yelling at me. How am I supposed to feel comfortable and welcome if I can’t even enjoy a bowl of ice cream in my underwear?

Why do they question me when I’ve finished an entire bottle of wine within one episode of How to Get Away With Murder? Why do they shake their heads when I stroll in the house at 3 A.M. on a Saturday night? And why do they tell me to “get my priorities straight” and to “grow up” after looking at videos of Golden Retrievers in party hats for three hours?

Despite the immense amount of pain I feel when I see my mom roll her eyes as I squeeze into a sexy bodycon dress, there are positives to being back in the homeland. I will never go hungry as the refrigerator and pantry contain more than PopTarts and Ramen Noodles. I will never be cold as my parents can afford to heat the house. I will never have to move out of my bedroom because the toilet backed up and filled my hallway and bedroom with sh*t and pee (Yes, this happened, and it was scarring.)

I thank my parents for letting me back into their home and providing me with the help I need to get on my feet. With this gratitude, though, I demand a judgement-free zone! I want my parents’ house to be the Planet Fitness of houses. I want to watch Golden Retrievers trot around in party hats on Youtube while I drink a bottle of wine and feel the cool air on my pant-less legs. I also want $100 million and a Shih Tzu puppy, but a girl can dream.

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