Two months ago if you had uttered the words moving house to me I probably would have burst into tears. I was at work the morning my mum told me the house that I grew up in had sold and I starting balling like a baby.
To say I work on a front-facing reception desk, this wasn’t ideal and so my work chummies were rallying around me bringing me cheese toasties and cups of tea as I completely overreacted about something way out of my control.
I had lived in the same house for sixteen years and despite three or four decorative changes, I had called the same bedroom my little happy place since I was four years old. The idea of leaving it behind made me feel physically sick. I’m a creature of habit you see and I like familiarity.
With me already semi moved out for university, my parents thought it was the right time to start the next chapter of their adult lives by downsizing and relocating. My problem lay in the fact that my ‘new’ bedroom would actually be their spare room, nothing about it would really be my own and I was worried I would feel more like a lodger, if and when I moved back home post uni.
I wanted to keep my wackily painted magenta walls and disgusting carpet with sixteen years worth of make-up, coffee, fake tan stains and ghd burns. Not an all cream room where I would always feel like tiptoeing around and not daring to actually live in there. The bed not my own, the carpet not my own, even the bedside lamps, not my own.
I wanted my room.
Not only did leaving my personal space behind not sit well with me, but the fact my parents were moving out of the area where I grew up really upset me as well. They kept telling me that I “won’t care” once I have figured out my own life. What they forget is that technically I do still live at home!
I think that they believed that once you graduate university everybody automatically finds and a job and you buy a home of your own, leaving your parents behind forever more.
Last week I spent a whole day packing up my room into boxes and bin bags – I didn’t feel upset surprisingly as more exciting things are around the corner with regards to my living arrangements.
As you may know already, I am moving to London in a few weeks time to a place of my own, then after I have completed my work down there I have lined up another flat of my own for when I head back to Liverpool to finish off my degree. So in a nutshell, for the next year, I will be living independently which suits me just perfectly.
I decided to look at this positively, my parents will be happier and so will I, at nearly 21 I guess it is time to work it all out for myself! So 11 bin bags of rubbish and nine bags of items for charity later and I am left with my worldly possessions and all of the fizzing excitement that comes with living independently.
Have anybody else felt the same about moving house?