Maybe it’s okay to go home

When I first moved away from home, I was so excited to have my own life.

My own apartment, my own routines, my own space. I loved the independence of it all, and I still do. There’s something really special about building a life that feels completely yours, especially in your twenties.

But somewhere along the way, I started to really miss my parents.

Not in a dramatic, calling-them-every-night-because-I’m-homesick kind of way. It was more in the little moments. I missed being able to walk downstairs and tell my mom something instead of texting her. I missed sitting around doing absolutely nothing together. I missed dinners at home and random conversations in the kitchen. I even missed the things that probably used to annoy me when I was younger.

Living in another city made seeing my family something that had to be planned. A visit became a weekend. Dinner meant being in town. And even though Montreal and Toronto aren’t that far from each other, it was far enough that I couldn’t just pop over because I felt like it.

The older I get, the more I realize how much I miss that.

So, at 26, I’m moving home.

It’s funny because when you’re younger, all you want to do is leave. You can’t wait to have your own place and not have your parents asking where you’re going or what time you’ll be home. Independence feels like the ultimate goal.

Then you get that independence and realize that your parents are actually some of your favourite people to hang out with.

I think there can be a weird stigma around moving back home in your twenties. We’re made to feel like life is supposed to follow this perfectly straight path: you move out, build your career, get your own place and just keep going from there.

But I don’t really see moving home as going backwards.

I’ve had the experience of living away. I’ve built a career and a life for myself. I know what it feels like to be completely independent, and I know I’ll have my own place again.

Right now, though, I just want to be home for a little while.

I want to have coffee with my parents in the morning. I want to be there for weeknight dinners instead of only holidays and planned visits. I want to be able to sit on the couch with my mom or go somewhere with my dad without having to squeeze everything into the two days I happen to be home.

Because something else happens as you get older: you become much more aware of time.

Your parents aren’t going to be exactly this age forever, and neither are you. Life changes. People move, families grow and schedules get busier. I know there will probably come a point when living with my parents again isn’t an option, or when my life naturally takes me somewhere else.

So why am I rushing away from this time while I still have it?

I’m sure moving home as an adult will have its moments. Ask me how I feel after a few months and maybe I’ll be desperately searching for apartments again. But right now, I’m excited.

I’m excited to go home to the people I’ve missed.

Maybe growing up isn’t always about getting further and further away from where you started. Maybe sometimes you grow up enough to realize how lucky you are to have a home you actually want to come back to.