When I was a teenager, I had no expectations of living with my parents after graduating. I was intent on being independent and having my own apartment after college — after all, that’s how it happened in all the TV shows and movies. That’s supposed to be the plan, right? Live on your own (or at the very least with a roommate), have a job, and figure out this whole 20s thing on your own. But almost two years post-grad, my reality isn’t close to my expectations. I live at home with my parents and commute to grad school two hours away. Why? Because life doesn’t always go the way you expected, and I’m needed at home.
My father was diagnosed with early-onset dementia during my sophomore year of college, and by the time I’d graduated from the University at Buffalo, his symptoms had gotten progressively worse. Originally, my plans were to temporarily move back home before finding a job, but when my parents decided to move to a quiet, tranquil area upstate from New York City, I chose to go with them, and my plans changed: I left the fellowship position I’d secured (I no longer met the employee residence requirements) and applied to grad school for journalism on a whim, unsure of if I would get in or how it would work if I did.
Upon getting into grad school and then moving, I felt conflicted. I was happy to help my parents, but confused about how to fit my responsibilities as a daughter with school obligations. So, I spoke with my academic advisor (and told her about my commute and my dad’s health), and I was able to plan out my semesters from there. It might not have been my ideal situation, but I’m grateful for it, and it was proven crucial during my first semester.
In September 2025, my dad suffered a stroke. I was home that day and, since my remote class had been canceled, pretty free. While eating breakfast, my dad was weak, had a facial droop, and was unresponsive. Immediately, my mom, who has worked in healthcare for decades, noticed something was wrong. We were able to rush into action — taking his blood pressure and calling emergency services. I was readily available to help and gave updates to my siblings, who each live on their own about two hours away. Being there made a difference in how quickly we were able to respond and allowed the doctors to treat the stroke; time was of the essence.
After that, my already-strong relationship with my parents got even stronger. Spending time with them has become a nice way to cap off my day: I’m always telling my dad about journalism school and the articles I’m proud of, and reminiscing about things in his long-term memory, like how he met my mom while studying in the Brooklyn Public Library. I spend evenings watching movies and shows with my mom (right now, we’re tuned in almost every week for the newest episode of Season 2 of The Pitt). By living at home, I get quality time with them IRL, and I always know the latest about my dad’s health. Talking to them over the phone, miles away, wouldn’t be the same.
Additionally, living at home has led me to be able to spend time with my siblings. They often stop by or spend a few days with us. They help out around the house, run errands, and we enjoy time as a whole family (reminding me of how we grew up). My relationship with them has changed — more than ever, we are leaning on each other for support.
Living with my parents wasn’t the plan, but I feel it was my duty to move in with them and help. While it’s different from what I originally imagined, I’m not giving up my goals or what my parents hoped I could achieve. I wouldn’t say that living with your parents is always easy, especially if you step into a caregiver role, and it may not be the right decision for everyone — but don’t rule it out: It could strengthen your relationship with your family, and sometimes, that’s the most important thing.