These stories talk about kids and young adults who move back in with their parents.
They leave. And no one expects them to return. So called "boomerang kids" live independently before circumstances change and they are forced back to their childhood homes. And everyone involved has to adjust.
By Lori Griffith
From the moment Jake was born I experienced such immense love for him and could never fathom being separated. What I didn't realize was someday the teen years would hit like a tsunami and as he drove off for college I would crack open a bottle of champagne and do the Happy Dance. Who knew after college and being on his own that he would suffer a traumatic accident and need to move home to recuperate. I didn't blink an eye at this. Home is where he belonged and where he would get the best love, support, and care. Goodbye privacy.
Being a single mother, handling the roles of mother and father since Jake was 3 years old, we have a pretty tight, but often confrontational relationship. I have always been extremely independent and instilled that in Jake - many times against his will. With his coming home (along with his pit bull Sox who I also adore), he knew that home is always a place he can safely land, but the goal is to heal and head back out into the world. While I would love to shield him forever, I am a realist and know the best thing sometimes is the hardest thing and I knew I was going to have to push him - even if it hurt.
Nine months into his rehabilitation it was time to start pushing hard. He was becoming too comfortable with me cooking, cleaning and paying all of the bills. I was starting to resent his lack of motivation and the ease with which he just assumed I would do it all. It's one thing to do this for a child, but he was now a man and needed to start acting like one. It's funny how we can easily manage everything in our lives, but when we walk through mom's door, we become little kids again - right down to not making the bed or taking out the trash.
Still the greatest love of my life and the best thing that ever happened to me, I was longing for my privacy. A year later, I knew Jake was ready to fly solo again (although he'll vehemently disagree), but was showing no signs of ever leaving. I had to no choice. I did what every mother would do - I sold the house and moved to the beach - alone! Ultimately this was the best thing I ever did for Jake, although he laughs now and says if I were an animal I would be the kind to eat their young.
We both crack the champagne and do the happy dance now, just in separate residences.
By Matthew Hartmann
My name is Matthew Hartmann and like countless others, I had to make the tough choice to move home after college. I earned my MA in Communication from Hawaii Pacific University in 2012 and found myself faced with an undeniable truth. Despite thinking that the job market would have recovered enough for me to get a full time communications job if I attended graduate school, this was not to be. Instead, I found myself without any work coming my way so I made the fateful decision to return home and do the job search from there.
It’s been a year since graduation and aside from a brief period of employment during a political campaign, the only money coming in right now is from my freelance writing. I love being my own boss and to be honest if I can make it work, I would gladly focus solely on my business. My family is very supportive of me and I do what I can to help out around the house along with helping fill the gas tank and pay a bill or two when I get a significant contract completed.
It feels weird being where I am and I am bummed that the days where a person could complete school and expect a career launched immediately has been put to the way side. Though I believe in the American Dream that states I should have already been able to get things going, I don’t get mad about it, as getting mad about my situation won’t make things better.
The only alternative I have is to be a good adult son by calmly explaining to my family what I’m doing and how these actions will help me improve my life in the long term. There’s still occasional friction about me being here but I have been able to bring money in to help my parents out. And I know my parents want things to get better for me and our relationship is good because of it. I’ve never had a very antagonistic relationship with them thankfully so it’s been relatively easy for us to set expectations and boundaries on our relationship as far as me living at home goes.
Still, I can’t wait until I finally have a place to call my own. Until that day comes I’ll be working hard at getting myself launched by getting myself published more often so that I can obtain that name recognition that is essential to working as a writer.
By Natalie Meyer
As quickly as it started, it was over. The last six years of my formal education, including receiving a prior degree, culminated in this one moment. I was twenty-four years old and just graduated from nursing school. Yet I felt more uncertainty than joy amid the occasion, for I had no clear sight of how long it would be before I would find a job.
It was August 2011. By now returning home to live with one’s parents had seemingly become a compulsory event of post-college life. No participating partynecessarily desires this arrangement, yet most not having any other affordable alternative.
I had been blessed to be part of such a dedicated family. The motivational and financial support they have shown throughout my life is immeasurable. How does a child go about repaying their parents devotion?
Throughout the years our relationship matured into more of a deep friendship. But we had also experienced this ride before and knew the ease of lapsing into old roles. I wanted to demonstrate that I was cognizant of this, that I deeply appreciated everything they’ve done, and that this layover would end quickly.
The relaxation of returning home was short-lived. I immediately felt the ambiguity of my situation. I sat my parents down. I had to outline my goals and strategies so as to make my plans tangible. I couldn’t help but cry for not being more in control of my state. I could sense their deep desire to help me as well as their helplessness. We agreed to respect each other’s honesty and boundaries and that remaining constructive towards one another would be most beneficial.
At times frustrations would intensify and arguments ensued. But we kept open and truthful, for the tension stemmed from a place of love. We knew this trying time would eventually pass.
It took fourteen months to land a nursing job. Two years have since transpired, but one thing remains on my mind: how can I begin to reciprocate the generosity given by my parents? I know this gratitude will never be fully satisfied, but I won’t ever stop trying.
By Anne A
My story starts when I was 13 years old. I lived at a squatter’s area with my mom, brother, sister and step dad. I am from the Philippines and one of the basic factors that we love to preserve is our family. However, I made a very painful decision to leave them and went out on my own.
You would wonder why I did that at such a young age but I had my own reasons and hurtful experiences that I wished never happened. I was physically abused by my stepfather and my mom never said a word and just watched him every time he beat me up. I realized that I had to do something about it because I couldn’t bear both physical and emotional beating.
As a result of leaving home, I ended up living on the street and started begging for pennies. At my young age, I also worked a lot in exchange for food and shelter. I honestly never felt alone because I knew I had God though those moments that were really depressing. Fortunately, He sent someone to help me. A priest offered me a scholarship so I continued my studies and went back to school again.
Through all my times of discomfort – whether from lack of food, from deep chills or from filth - I actually never thought about going home. I couldn’t return to the cooperation of the abuse at home and I was determined to be successful. I experienced celebrating Christmas, new years and birthdays alone. You might think that it’s easy because I managed to get through it but it’s not. I cried my heart out wishing that I could spend the most amazing days with my family because I actually didn’t want to be alone.
I took the responsibility of standing on what I believe is right and years after, I finally graduated from college and started a wonderful job as a teacher. I was finally happy and content, or so I thought. But seeing my students with their parents triggered something inside me and it told me that I should see my mom. So I gathered the courage and went back home for a visit.
But I was devastated when I arrived. I found out that my brother and sister had the same traumatic experience as mine so they also left home. I can barely watch my mom’s sad face because she felt sorry for not fighting for her children. Honestly, I can never forget what had happened in my childhood but she’s still my mom and I love her and I am willing to forgive everything that had happened. I also vowed to try to bring the family back together. I looked for my siblings and found them after a year. It was hard to convince them to come back. Those traumatic experiences made them hate me for leaving them and it took away their trust of the very people who really care for them. And of course they were reluctant to return to the scene of past abuse.
It broke my heart to see my siblings suffer from such pain they never wished to have. But I tried everything to win them back because they were the most important people in my life. In the end, they submitted and returned with me. At the same time, my stepfather took the chance to sincerely apologize for everything he had done. I don’t really understand what I felt that day because I really wanted to insult him and tell him to his face what a bad person he was for ruining and breaking up our family.
But I didn’t. Those years that I spent serving God made me realize that planting hatred is actually useless so I found a place to forgive my stepfather. I know it will take time to heal those wounds created from the past but we are willing to try to forgive and put everything behind us. Now all I can say is that I’m satisfied and happy living together with my family and there’s no way I ever will leave them again. Life actually depends on how you look at it. If you have reasons to fight, you will never have reasons to quit.
By Dana George
There was a time -- back when my husband and I graduated from college -- when a degree was enough to guarantee you a job. I don’t know if we forgot to read a newspaper, but we essentially promised our sons that a college education would pave their paths to professional success.
Because we married as teenagers, my husband and I paid for our degrees. Not only did we carry the debt of our undergrad work, but we were also responsible for my husband’s two graduate degrees. In fact, at the age of 53 I am still paying off student loans. We did not want our children to feel the pressure of debt like we did, so we promised to pay for each of their bachelor degrees – with one huge caveat. Our deal with them was that we would pay for their bachelor’s degree as long as they went straight into graduate school upon graduation.
We may have been well intentioned, but we were obnoxiously naïve. It is dizzying to consider all the things we did wrong. Our promise filled them with false expectations of employment, robbed them of the opportunity to gain all-important work experience, and caused unnecessary pain.
When, at the age of 26, our son realized that he needed to be back under our roof, we watched a slow, subtle change in him. The weight of the world seemed to rest on our formerly easy-going kid as he left each morning to apply for entry-level jobs. The social life he’d enjoyed while in school in another state evaporated. He literally did not make one new friend while living in our home and quickly dropped contact with old friends. As much as we loved our son, we would have given anything to have him announce that he was going out for the evening with friends. We would have done anything to see him laugh like he once had.
He was embarrassed, questioning every decision he’d made regarding his education, wondering why he hadn’t taken time to gain more work experience. He was also crushingly aware of the debt that he had accrued. While we did pay for their bachelor’s degrees, our boys were responsible for grad school tuition. It seemed like a safe bet, given all the times we promised them that it would pay off.
Our experience of having our son live at home might be different than other people's. True to nature, he was a great guy and did whatever he could to help out around the house. We never felt the “burden” of having an adult child at home who did not want to grow up. The very fact that he did want to grow up, to be independent, is what caused so much pain. He was unhappy and could not find a way out of it. We were heartbroken to see him suffer and to know that we played a role.
It was glaringly apparent that my husband and I were living in a fantasy world and that fantasy hit our children smack in the face. How could we apologize for “not knowing,” not doing our due-diligence, and for operating in an outdated model of what it meant to have a college degree? By failing to face the reality of what our boys would face upon graduating college, we set them up for a couple of really rough years of self-doubt and anxiety.
By Cindy Schwarz
Realistically, how does anyone say, “no,” to a grown child moving back home? Especially when this person asking for shelter is not only your daughter but also a new single parent. Returning with her two daughters, and with the soon-to-be "ex" incarcerated on drug related charges, my daughter seemed relieved to come back home. For me, I felt tempered resignation and continued to struggle to hold my tongue and my “mother’s all-knowing-ness.” As a result, my nerves were fraying like tatty cuffs.
When my daughter and granddaughters moved in, I was already near my limit. Tumult had surrounded our last few years with my son-in-law’s pseudo-hidden agenda: daily drug use. To support his habit, most often he stole from family- her jewelry and class ring, my waitress money, then strangers - feigning handyman expertise, then businesses- stolen items returned without receipt, exchanged for gift cards. All along my daughter maintained she was oblivious to his broken life. I had trouble rationalizing this blindness, and it just made me angrier and angrier. How did she not see this? I kept hammering into the remnants of my sensibility.
When the three girls moved in, my house was suddenly in disarray. To accommodate them, I schlepped my life into the smaller of two bedrooms, relinquishing the master to them. She complained about being given "just one room." I reasoned it was large enough for closeness and thought she should be more thankful for the accommodations I was making. And then the grandchildren sought constant attention, exacerbated by the shame of having a father in prison, to which I couldn’t help but respond.
So went 14 months of our family life. We rehashed the “unseen” several times as shouts of accusations bounced off granite counter tops. Both my daughter and I sought counseling, but we still drifted apart as the strain grew between us, dense as frozen orange juice.
But we eventually found our ways- for her, serving the internet-generated divorce papers to the inmate and finding a new love interest. She spent weekends juggling kids to ex-inlaws and pursuing a highlighted relationship. In the quiet peace, I painted and pondered, but I still couldn’t hold back from pitching sentiments and expletives upon her Sunday evening return. I was only able to quell my fury when I decided to return to college, finally figuring out I mattered too.
Realistically, how does a parent say “no” to a grown child moving back home? “N-O,” that’s how. But then, saying “no” can mean stopping the forward progression that is life. I just have to be more careful to look out for myself amid my best intentions to help my grown child.
By Bianca Fernandes
After three years of fun, freedom and excitement in college, it all came to a crashing halt with a summer at home that never ended. At one moment, I was 100% independent and making all my own decisions and ruling my side of the dormitory. The next moment I had to be indoors at a certain time, I was sleeping in Batman sheets, and I generally felt like I was 10 years old again. This dramatic change really takes a toll on your spirit. Perhaps journalism wasn’t the best course if I wanted to actually find a career after college.
But I can’t blame my parents for treating me like a child. You see, in South Africa, living with your parents for an extended amount of time is pretty normal and most kids live at home throughout college and move out when they get a job. But I chose to study far away from my hometown. I chose the college life. The full college experience. And my post-college plans were to stay in the city, ideally in a studio apartment with someone sexy to share my free time with. It wasn’t my plan to spend the day with Bruno the dog.
And now I’m left with that horrible empty feeling in my gut that I might not get a job. Being in my demographic and getting a worthwhile journalism job in this country is almost impossible. I dream about moving aboard to find a job I love in a city I’ve only seen on TV. But how do I save up the funds to travel to a foreign land and support myself through months of job searching there?
But nevertheless, I’m not the only one who had to suffer through the extremely humiliating move back into my parent’s house after a taste of freedom that ended too quickly. It seems like a recurring theme in every rom-com series on-air today. Twenty-somethings just aren’t in the position to make money, well, unless you’re Taylor Swift. Coincidentally I just happen to be 22 this year. Aw, irony! I guess T.S doesn’t really know how it feels to be 22 after all.
But what truly hurts, deep down in my bones, is feeling like you just can’t escape your childhood. It’s time to grow up and move on and I’m stuck. Stuck searching for jobs online all day and feeling like the ultimate shut-in. I want to break free. I want to live. I want to be on my own. I want to open my own curtains in the morning. I want to have to rely on my alarm clock rather than my mom. I want to make my own lunch. I want to be struck for cash, but I want that to be my problem and my problem alone. No more pocket money, no more snacks.
College may have set me back a pretty penny, and even though too many kids like me in South Africa are going through the same problem, I am determined to make living at my parent’s house a temporary thing, no matter how permanent it feels. In the process, I hope at least I am building character.
By Matt Sugam
It was the end of May in 2011 and the lease on my apartment in New Brunswick was coming to an end. Fresh out of college, having graduated from Rutgers University two weeks earlier with a degree in Journalism and Media Studies and Sociology, I was moving back home.
"It won’t be that bad," I thought. I’d be there for six months to a year before I found a full-time job in the field of journalism, and in turn, be able to move out soon after. If the new job was in the area, I’d save some money and then move out, and if it was out of the area, I’d be out the door the next day.
Fast-forward to today and I’m still living at home with my parents. 24, going on 25, I still don’t have a full-time job. I’m a freelance writer, mainly covering sports but doing community news as well. I live paycheck to paycheck, and that’s with the free rent and free food. It’s a daily struggle as I scour the Internet for jobs, hoping to find a full-time one.
As for living at home, it has its ups and downs. I get along well with my parents, so the quarrels are few and far between. And I’m far from the only one of my friends from high school to be back home after college, so there’s things to do. The tough part for me is not having the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I have no idea when I’ll be able to move out. I just know it likely won’t be anytime soon, as it won’t be until I get a full-time job, and I’ve grown tired of speculating when that will come.
It is not that I should be surprised by my situation. The warning every teacher in every journalism class gave was a simple one. Don’t get into this job for the money. It’s a constant struggle to make ends meet and few make it to the top, where that struggle then ceases. However, they didn’t say that would include the inability to move out of your parent’s house for over two years. And they should have, because I’m not the only one.
Virtually every person from school I know that got into this field is in the same situation as I am. So I get some solace that I’m not alone. And I love the work I do, which not many can say about their job. But most have much more financial security than I have. They may live at home now, but know they’ll be out soon. Me? I don’t put a timetable on it anymore. That can only lead to disappointment. My only hope is that I’m on my own before I’m 30.
