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I am 31 years old and live with my parents and grandmother. I'm not ashamed of my living situation and in fact, I have no plans of leaving the family home — at least not in the near future. I know that might be a controversial statement for some, but it's not for me; I enjoy living with my family.
For a while, I felt like I had to reach certain milestones to be a "real" adult: graduate from college, get my first job, pay off my debt, become financially independent, and move out. I achieved many of them, actually — I still don't feel like a real adult, though, and quite frankly I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will.
Moving back in with my parents seemed like the right thing to do after college; I could save on rent and utilities and instead invest my money in myself — travel, savings accounts, and experiences I would've otherwise not have access to. I gave up on the idea of reaching these milestones by a certain age — an idea that was never really my idea of success anyway — and decided to start enjoying life as I'm living it now, with my current "housemates" and all.
I still haven't quite decided if this setup is ideal. What I save in rent, I sometimes pay with bits of my sanity and lack of privacy. However, living at home gives me the unique opportunity to spend time with my direct family as they, too, get older.
I'm Mexican, and multigenerational homes are fairly common in Mexican culture. Each member of the household plays an integral role and has their part in the proper functioning of the home; we all pitch in in whatever way we can.
At my house, someone's in charge of dealing with the annoying little errands that inevitably pop up, someone takes care of our dogs, and someone schedules and takes Grandma to her appointments (yes, in my case, these are all me). I get to do all of this and then sit down for lunch with my parents (who, by the way, are also my bosses, in case the dynamic needed a little extra spice) and grandmother.
I know some people see living with their parents, or just accepting financial support from them, as some sort of failure, something to be ashamed of. Well, I don't. Why would I be ashamed of living in a place where I get to talk to my parents about our favorite cartoons growing up, about our different views on politics, or about what funny thing one of our many Rottweilers did that morning over a bowl of my mom's iconic Pozole?
I get the chance to watch the people that watched me grow up grow old. And sure, we might have our differences and our disagreements sometimes, but I wouldn't change a thing.
I'll move out, eventually. I'm not trying to say I plan on living here for the rest of my life. But if I do, or if I end up coming back as my mom did — I'm OK with that. When I do, I'll leave behind the unique mix of absolute comfort and painful discomfort that comes with living with family.
Still, no one will be able to take away the many Sundays we all spent glued to the TV discussing who the best F1 driver is and the feeling of knowing I took full advantage of my situation and enjoyed the small moments with some of the people I love the most.
