Living with someone you love sounds wonderful on paper. Lots of girls in serious relationships consider it. I was one of them. And I will be the first one to tell you that it is potentially one of the worst decisions I have made to date.
I was eighteen. He was four years my senior and the idea had been burgeoning in my head for months before it happened. I figured living with your boyfriend/ best friend would naturally be one of the most exciting whirlwind experiences I had yet had. I pictured it to be like sleepovers where neither one of us would have to leave in the morning. We were “in love” after all.
Needless to say my parents weren’t happy about my decision. They said I’d come to regret it, that I was too young to move in with someone, that I was risking not meeting new people because I’d be living with this significant other.
And as much as it stings to say it, they were 100 percent correct. Sure, it started off wonderful and he and I both were excited for the experience. But it didn’t take more than about a month before it began to crumble.
I had had a job lined up before we had even moved in. I had my textbooks purchased and I genuinely felt ready. He on the other hand couldn’t find a job at all. In his defense he did spend a lot of time looking, but he was jobless nonetheless. Also, he wasn’t going to UCF like I was. He was taking a couple classes at Valencia.
I felt like I had a huge workload in comparison to him. I would lay out the money for food and groceries with my loan money seeing as he didn’t have it. To be fair, this isn’t saying I paid for everything, but I do remember lectures from my parents about how I needed to save money, how he should pay for more.
Months went by and slowly I began to realize I wasn’t meeting half the quantity of people I thought I would. I’m an outgoing person, and I pictured college to be an extension of high school, only better. I met people in my classes but that was it. I was working too much to have much of a social life. I did go out, but not nearly as much as I would have liked. And when I was off of work, I was catching up on homework, or spending time with him.
Looking back on it now, I think this grew into bitter feelings toward him. If I hadn’t moved in with him after all, I’d be experiencing the same thing all my other friends were.
Our fights were getting worse, and it was taking a toll on me emotionally. I remember by Christmas of last year I realized I had made a colossal mistake by moving in with him and I wanted out. But there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t afford to break my lease, and even if I did, whom would I move in with?
So I stuck it out. It was rough and painful looking back now. There were happy times as well, but every time I think of it, the bad memories and loneliness I felt are the first things to hit me.
So I moved in with four random roommates this past fall and it was a great option for me. It was extremely intimidating at first especially because they all knew each other already. However, they welcomed me in no-questions-asked, as a friend, and now as a sister, and we plan to get a house together next year.
This past year has been amazing for me, and although I’ll never forget the trauma I went through freshman year, I can hope to at least learn from it. Ultimately, I hope that some of you out there contemplating moving in with your boyfriend, just think it through first. I mean really think it through. Honestly, a year is a long time—especially when you’re unhappy.