moving out and changing the narrative

March 18, 2017

Some of you have probably heard me, in quieter and more candid moments, say “I really need to move out” almost as a sigh, as an inconsequential sidenote in talking about my life, not ever with the conscious conviction of a deliberate thought. As I really don’t mind living at home, it’s really conveniently located, it’s comfortable, safe and, as a friend recently commented, my mum cooks for me and will clean up my messes, but it keeps me as a dependent child in my mind. I just think I misplace of my sense of being an okay and brave self often enough that I let the constant narrative of vulnerability (and my existential flux) of disabled existence repeatedly write me. This has kept me firmly in place for years, and I have frequently opted for the comfort and care of being with my mother, because it feels familiar and less stressful than moving. And let’s be honest, I’m her daughter, she has always dealt with however II may wake up to the best of her capability, and she hasn’t deserted me as yet, (even though she probably has wanted to billions of times). So being at home absolutely feels safe, I can retreat into my room and feel comforted knowing I still will be “cared for” even if I am grumpy and non-communicative. I’m so appreciative for that, a lot of people never have this kind of accepting, consistent and devoted care that Lynne shows me every day. I had great plans to move interstate a year or so ago, that never eventuated. They got drowned in amidst the endless and fluctuating emotional tides of my inner life, so the timing didn’t feel right, or maybe I just thought it should feel differently than it did. It has never felt like the right time to move – I was waiting until I was more resilient, more organised and felt more adult. And guess what? Years later, I am still waiting for a right time, and will probably be forever, if I don’t change things externally. I know I am pretty resilient, organised, somewhat like an adult and I ridiculously love doing domestic tasks, but being in the same environment and routine as I was when I was 15 makes me doubt these things about myself. Yesterday, I actually started the discussion about moving out with my parents, like as an immediate goal with an action plan, and they were okay about it. Me having a goal for my miniscule life? Shock/horror. I am shocked myself, I usually don't do "goals".