Your parent’s place, or mine?

I remember as a teenager watching the cast of The Hills and thinking, ‘I can’t wait to be in my twenties with a great job in the city, my own apartment and partying every weekend with my money’… Let’s all laugh together. Little did I know I would still be living at home because I can barely afford a flat share in the city, let alone my own apartment. A genuine problem amongst ‘millennial's’ is that despite how much we want to move out for good, financially -it’s not easy. The prospect of buying your own house in your mid-twenties, which was something perfectly doable in our parents’ generation, is just not as attainable, especially if you are single (another repercussion for being 4eva alone). Sure, there are government enforced schemes which are supposed to help us, but to what extent do they enable young people the option of stepping on the property ladder? Unless you have 15k + spare for a deposit, in addition to a high enough wage that your mortgage offer would cover the price of a house – you’re screwed. That vision of the sad 35 year old, playing video games, living in their parents loft isn’t looking too far away now, is it?

 But while I want to have a bit of a laugh at all of our expense in due course, I want to address how frustrating and how helpless our generation are left to feel. I’m angry. After sitting across from one of my best friends, who works 2 jobs, usually across 7 days a week… for her to tell me she feels like she hasn’t achieved enough is heart-breaking. But who can blame her? Society in the UK has a really twisted sense of humour for it to drum in to us that we should all be buying our own places, then ensure it isn’t realistic financially. I read in the comet newspaper (I was trying to dig out information on the nominees of the local election) that to own a house in North Herts, you need to be earning an annual income of £78,000. Are they having an actual laugh? We’re not talking London with its endless shops, bars and public transport; we’re talking last train home at 00:50 (if the trains are ACTUALLY running) and a local co-op that shuts at 22:00. It’s no wonder that many young couples are jumping on the help-to-buy scheme in counties further north, because living within a half- hour commute of London immediately means you need to hand over your first born child to pay the debt of living there.

However, if (like me) no one wants to pack up and buy a new build in Bedfordshire with you, you’ll be familiar with my current situation – living with the parents. It’s weird, awkward and an invasion of privacy at times, but it does have some benefits. It’s a great opportunity to save money and I am eternally grateful for all my parents have done and continue to do for me. However, after living away at Uni, travelling etc, to live under the same roof as your parents at 24 means some inevitable clashes. If you’re an adult living with your parents due to finances rather than out of choice, you’ll definitely relate to some, if not all of these:

You never hear the end of how lazy you are.

Because you’re older than 13, you’re quite capable of loading the dishwasher or hoovering. You might have moved out at some point before, whether it was uni, travelling or you rented for a bit just to get out. Amazingly, within that time… you didn’t die. Just because the plates were left on the side for an hour, a plague didn’t spread the house and kill off anyone in its path, right? For some reason, mums needs to start loading the dishwasher before the meal is even finished. I’m not sure what sort of self-enforced mission she’s on where everything has to be cleaned and spotless exactly 5 minutes after the foods finished, but I think she’s on a self com-busting timer?

 Of course, your parents won’t do the house work at a normal noise level. No, no, no… the whole fun for most mums is smashing the drawers closed, sighing loudly and giving daily reminders that you’re the laziest person she’s ever met. Have you been at work all day and think it’s time to chill in front of the TV? Ha ha ha when will you learn?! It’s hoovering time! *Queue aggressive face and even angrier hoover stokes* Something fun my mum likes to do is wait until Saturday morning at about 8am and hoover the hallway making sure it bangs in to my door with every stroke, I LOVE when we play that game! For anyone reading thinking ‘you’re so ungrateful’, I do really appreciate how clean the house is due to my mum’s efforts, she keeps the house spotless. The problem is, when I ask her how her day is she gives me a daily run down of how me living under the same roof as her causes her constant stress, pain and misery. Well, join the queue Jane! I’m bringing that to everyone else’s life so it’s only right you suffer too x

If you do the housework it will be wrong.

Don’t even try. That’s my advice. It’ll never be the same level of clean that your parents expect. But genuinely, I cook for myself frequently and if there’s one thing my mum hates more than cooking for me, it’s me cooking in her kitchen. She spends so long in the kitchen judging me she might as well cook it herself. As soon as I prepare to cook she’s there, meerkat-ing over my shoulder investigating the food crime scene. “Oh for god sake Talia, is THAT how you chop an onion?!” she cries with laughter. Bloody hell, sorry Jamie Oliver do you want me to carve it in to a swan? It’s going in a curry I’m not showcasing it at a Michelin star restaurant… She calls to my dad to mock me further: “Mick, look at the mess your daughter’s made in the kitchen!” Dad can’t hear what’s going on most of the time anyway as it’s compulsory for middle aged men to lose some of their hearing, in addition to loving gardening and B&Q. Ultimately, mum will either take over what I’m doing, though I consistently tell her not to, or moan that my food is taking up too much fridge space. According to her, the two freezers are packed because of the 3 frozen items I put in there… yeah couldn’t possibly be the stewed apples that have been in there 2 years… but that’s none of my business….

It makes dating near impossible.

Trying to discreetly start seeing someone when you live at home doesn’t work. In a time when it takes 3 months to figure out ‘what this is’ with a bloke, you don’t want your mum to be running to the front door on the first date. I don’t even have to say I’m meeting a guy, it’s like she can sense a shift in the air and demands to know who I’m going out with. I’ve been told I’m really secretive when it comes to men, but the truth is; it’s not natural for parents to know every detail of what’s going on with a guy you’ve just started seeing. If you lived on your own you wouldn’t mention it and you definitely wouldn’t be introducing him to the parents by date 3, but because of living circumstances it becomes a lot harder to keep the parents and your date apart. ‘Meeting the parents’ used to be a monumental moment, now it happens before you know their middle name. My mum fully hangs her head out the upstairs window even if a male friend comes to pick me up- it’s not discreet Jane, you might as well get in the car and we’ll all go to the pub together.

Sex? What a fond distant memory.

The fact that at this age, the words ‘do you have a free house?’ have to come out of your mouth, is humiliating. If you have gone from living alone/ with friends, to having to move back in with your parents, you will know what I’m talking about. I personally cannot bring a casual partner to my parents’ house with them there and I have a relatively open relationship with them (I.e. they laugh about the lack of sex I get). At a time when scientifically we’re supposed to be at our peak of attractiveness, it does seem a shame that if I joined a convent I’d probably still be getting more action than my current situation. It doesn’t help that I actually can’t think of any potential partners right now anyway, but I’ll blame it on my living situation because then it makes me feel like I have more options than I actually do…

There’s no such thing as privacy.

From your post to your boozy nights out, there is no privacy while living with your parents. ‘Oh you didn’t want me to open that CONFIDENTIAL letter specifically with your name on it?’ They ask sheepishly. My friends are baffled when I tell them this happens so it can’t be everyone, but the worrying thing is I don’t even have anything exciting enough going on for me to be worried about them opening. (I’ve even got my parents on find my friends so they can track me, if that doesn’t tell you how boring I am at the moment then nothing will). However, it does make online shopping and your general expenditures near impossible to hide. ‘You’re going down the pub? I thought you didn’t have any money?’ Yeah well that’s just the vicious cycle of life Mum and I don’t think you ever grow out of it. Dad nods behind her. The beauty of being an adult is you don’t have to make excuses for yourself on the rare occasion you’re out late; the problem with living at home is after years of baby monitoring and fear of child death, mum’s can usually wake up at the sound of a pin drop. (Dad will still be snoring of course). So you’re filled with slight guilt when she comes down at 4am in her dressing gown while you’re attempting to make toast and talking to the wall.

The lack of privacy isn’t a one way thing of course, but parents are used to having their lives interrupted and ruined since we popped out and started causing havoc. As a teenager I would gag at the sight of my parents PDA (It may have been in the house but it was public to me since their kissing was burning my eyes). Now as a young adult, and after a few failed relationships of my own, it’s actually a relief when you see your parents showing signs of affection; as you can empathise with how tough life and relationships can be. Not that you’ll ever admit you’re not as grossed out as you were back then… and not that most of our generation will ever be able to maintain 35 year marriages, I can’t even be arsed to be with myself that long.

You won't live at home forever.            

 It comes to a time when you realise that something needs to change. (Or so my parents keep telling me: when mum suggests my room is going to be her new walk in wardrobe and I battle saying my sister’s room has much better lighting!) However, they are right. As mentioned in previous posts, there Is that pressure that you’re not doing enough or being enough and before you know it you’re in your mid- twenties, where many of the actions you make now can shape your future. It’s different for everyone and twenties are the perfect time for making those mistakes and trying to ‘find yourself’ (image of a stereotypical white person thinking they’ve sussed life while smoking a spliff on a beach in SE Asia). While we can all judge and scoff at each other’s decisions- realistically no one is doing life ‘right’. I used to mock people paying hundreds in rent to house share in London when you can live at home and save for a mortgage. But when reality hits that you’ll probably never afford a mortgage round here anyway, you have to yolo it and think ...what about right now? Book the flight, go to the bottomless brunches and the festivals, move to London. I know people renting in London, having the time of their lives and reclaiming that freedom they felt at uni (except they now have to work, rather than complain about 8 contact hours a week). My parent’s house will always be my true home and my mum’s roast dinner will always be the best in the world (don’t @ me) but living at home gives you that perspective of how you want your life to hopefully turn out. So that when you do finally leave you can be a person that makes your family proud.

(God this has got soppy and I’m not even on my period wtf is wrong with me).

EDIT: Until I move back in because the rent has rinsed me and I undoubtedly disappoint my parents by giving them sausage dogs instead of the grandchildren they wanted.