This photo is great because that little girl’s parents are holding her hands in the ocean, keeping her from falling into something that she might be scared of. There could be rocks or jellyfish or even sharks in that water, but it’s OK because her parents are protecting her. It’s all good.
Assuming that girl is about 6 years old, let’s fast forward about 15 years. Now she’s about to finish college and her parents are still holding her hands, only metaphorically this time. They’re checking in with her regularly to make sure that her classes are going well and that she’s on the right track to find a career as soon as possible after she graduates. Awesome. The girl appreciates her parents support and she lets them know it. That’s a happy story.
If you’re anything like me, that’s also an unrealistic story.
When my grandparents used to live in Florida, my parents may have had the opportunity to dangle me over the ocean like that, and they probably did. Now that I’m in college, they have the opportunity to be interested in my academics and support me as much as they can in whatever I do in life. They pretty much do that, too. So that little girl and me sound like we have fairly similar happy situations. Except the similarities stop where she’s openly appreciative and I’m not.
You may have experienced or will soon experience something similar to what I went through last night.
My mom was in town with one of her friends. Yes, it was Valentine’s Day, so she and her friend took me and my boyfriend to dinner. Then we went to the Sandbar and Henry’s. It was a legitimately enjoyable time. Her friend was buying rounds of Big Wave Daves and Vegas Bombs for us all at the Sandbar, and things were going great. But it started to get late (close to 11 is late for old people), and my mom had to work in the morning, which is why she was in town. We went back to their hotel room so my boyfriend and I could pick up some stuff my mom brought me, and then we would be on our way.
I’m not really sure at what point the lovely conversation throughout the evening took a southward turn, but it somehow landed on my future career, which is nonexistent as of yet. This terrifying topic ended up stretching into an hour-long debacle in their hotel room. Somewhere in that grueling conversation that I couldn’t find my way out of, my mom hit me with this: “You can always move home.”
I don’t know about you, but for me, moving home sounds like the worst thing ever. I love my family, but I spent 18 years under the same roof as them, and that was plenty. I love to love them from a distance. I talk to my mom on the phone like five times a week, and it’s great. I go home like once a month for whatever random occasion requires my presence, and that’s great, too. But actually living there all the time… not so great anymore.
And I let her know it. I told her that I have less than zero desire to move home after I graduate from college. I made faces that unmistakably meant that just the thought of moving home disgusted me. I told her so many other things that I would rather do that were equally, if not more, awful. It’s not like I was screaming and shouting and crying and throwing a fit. I was just laying my disdain out there on the line very clearly.
But the thing is that as much as this sounds like the end of my adulthood before it really even begins, my mom doesn’t need to know that. And neither does yours.
If your parents try to have this conversation with you and assure you that no matter what, everything will be OK because “you can always move home,” don’t do what I did. Don’t tell them that you’ve never heard a worse idea in your entire life and you have a lot of stupid friends with stupid ideas so that’s saying something. Don’t say that. Don’t say anything like that.
Tell them how much you appreciate their support. Tell them that having that offer to fall back on means a lot to you because you know that invitation to move home isn’t something everyone gets. Even if every single one of your friends also has that option, say it anyway. If your parents make you this offer, by no means should you feel obligated to take it, but you should certainly be more gracious in denying it than I was.
I realized all of this by the time I got home, which was approximately five minutes later. My boyfriend suggested that I call my mom in the morning and apologize and tell her that I do appreciate the offer, as much as I didn’t show it. But I’m stubborn, so I texted her instead. And then I wrote a blog about it in hopes that I could save other wonderful parents some heartbreak.
Appreciate your parents. I know I do, and you know you do, but do they know we do?