A little over three weeks ago, I moved back in with my parents.
That’s right. I’m in my mid-twenties and moved back home. For real.
Never in a million years did I ever imagine that this is where I would be today – in my parents’ home, in one of their spare bedrooms that’s now become my room. I have a storage unit for most of my things and then crammed the rest into ONE room. I’m home. And it feels so good.
One of the best things is that I’m home because I want to be and because it was a good fit for my current phase in life, not because I was so broken and had nowhere else to turn. After my divorce, I moved into a one bedroom apartment and began life anew. I struggled, sure. I hated being alone most days, but I also craved it more often than not. It was perfect for what I needed, for God to work through me and have me learn who I was and where my life was going. I’m still learning, but now it’s in a house with so much love and laughter (and crazy antics).
With moving home, I knew it was going to be an adjustment, on all sorts of levels. It’s almost been a month and I’m still not used to it. And recently, I’ve felt burnt out. I feel like I’m spinning my wheels and am getting nowhere fast. I’m always on the go.
And then, it hit me. I’m not taking care of me.
Some days, it’s even been hard just to focus. For example, this post took entirely too long to try to put together and type out what I’m feeling – and that’s just not normal for me. My body needs rest. My mind needs rest. My spirit needs rest.
I went from living alone, driving 30 minutes maximum to get home to an empty apartment, and doing what I wanted when I wanted. If I wanted to read a book, I could. If I wanted to veg out with a Netflix marathon, so be it. There were no distractions. Now, I drive an hour and 40 minutes twice a day (to work and back), interact with my parents and brother, stay with my sister once a week, cook for 4 on occasion, visit my boyfriend a few nights during the week now since I’m closer living at home, and I finally just finished unpacking the gazillion boxes and bags I’ve had scattered throughout my parents’ dining room. That doesn’t include the hours I spend (when I can) catching up on a TV show or two or just soaking in my new backyard, which is nothing but country: trees, green grass, now bluebonnets, a Texas sunset…I’m hoping to do a lot more back-porch-sittin in the near future while I’m there. It’s a lot of distractions, but ones that I’m blessed to have and cherish day in and day out.
I know I’ll find my rhythm. It’s just a new phase in my life and one that I’m not done adjusting to. I do miss my journaling nights and evenings cuddled in bed with a good book. I miss my blogging sessions where I can get a few weeks’ worth of posts done in one night, minus the images. I miss TV shows and the solace of my things everywhere. I’ll fit all of those things in, in time.
But even though I’m missing those things, I’m absolutely loving this time with my family. It’s time with them I never imagined or dreamed I’d get, so I’m soaking it all in! I love sitting down to dinner with them in the evenings I’m home, watching a TV show together, talking about life and upcoming events, and just doing the day to day with them. They’re my people, and I couldn’t imagine life without them. So while I’m living at home, I’m soaking it all in. If that means I read less books, so be it. If it means I don’t blog as often, then fine. Because I know that my reality is better than any dream right now, and I’m living what dreams are made of. Life is good. Hectic and a little out of control at times, but oh so good.