The joys of moving back home with your parents after living independently for five years can evoke feelings that are actually quite the opposite of joy at times. Some days living at home is my saving grace yet others it is the last straw of my sanity that snaps like a brittle twig leaving my nerves frayed and frazzled without hope of mending. The very source of the seemingly irreparable state of my mental distress. A swirling torrent of disillusionment.
Okay. Cue the world’s smallest violin. Maybe I’m being a tad bit dramatic and melancholy. But don’t call the #FirstWorldProblems police just yet. Let me explain.
As an independent soul with introverted tendencies, I cherish my quiet time all to myself, but that is rarely acknowledged as necessary by former empty nesters relapsing into a state smothering intrusiveness. This is usually preferred to be labeled as affection or quality time. I tend to gravitate more towards sensory overload or slow asphyxiation.
All hyperboles aside, I don’t vent to be spiteful at all. Of course, I absolutely cherish this season of my life, which has led me back home for an indefinite period. No, maybe I’m not slap-happy every single second. I have brief lapses of sanity when I secretly fantasize about a weekend away left to my own devices. But I know I will look back and cling to these memories for dear life. It is an opportunity I do not take lightly or for granted. I dearly love and adore and respect and admire my parents. They have raised me up in the Word and I am who I am today because of their guidance and wisdom and lavish love. And I am so beyond words grateful to be blessed with such amazing parents. Not many can say that for one reason or another and I’m humbled by the honor.
Malicious intent is certainly not the motivation for this post tonight. Simply an immediate need to feel a keyboard beneath my fingers and vigorously express raw emotions in the wake of an unforeseen wave of invasiveness. I still don’t think I’ve fully adjusted to having to answer to someone other than myself. Sometimes I just want to come home from work and eat cake for dinner and take a night nap and not have to feed the horses…or the dogs or the cat. Moving from the conveniences of city life to rural country have also required some getting used to.
Normally, if I found myself panting from the suffocation of forced interaction with someone other than the little voice inside my head I would just hop across the street to Starbucks or Panera for some “me time” with a coffee and my laptop. Or peruse through Publix aimlessly with an empty stomach. (Word to the wise, not always the best choice.)
However, that’s not exactly possible when the only place within 60 miles of my house with WIFI is called The Red Onion Grill joined to a 24/7 truck stop. I’ll let you paint that picture of tranquility. You get my point. So my only hope for silent solitude is my bedroom, but that’s never guaranteed unless take my laptop to the bath tub with me. And that still doesn’t stop my mom from breaking and entering.
Well, as the saying goes..her ears must have been burning. Mom just walked in my room. I have to put on my technical support hat now.