I moved back into my childhood home in my 30s. I never planned to stay long, but now I'm finding it hard to leave.

The day after Thanksgiving, I learned I’d have to move out of my beloved century-old, two-bedroom apartment in Kansas City.

My building had been taken over by a management company in another state.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the beginning of a Hallmark movie in which the protagonist unites with her neighbors to successfully push back against a corporate takeover (all while finding love along the way).

Instead, I found myself panicking about my next move while grieving the comfortable life I’d been so proud to have built over the seven years I’d rented that space.

A few weeks later, my parents suggested that my cat and I move back into my childhood home in the suburbs nearby.

As much as living with mom and dad in my 30s felt like it could be embarrassing or a huge step back, it felt like the best choice.

I planned to stay for just a few months, but it’s now been four years — and leaving feels more difficult than I ever anticipated.

My parents live in a home that they have been paying a mortgage on for nearly 30 years.

It’s much cheaper than anything on the rental market, and my financial contributions aren’t even close to what I’d be paying if I lived elsewhere.

It’s also been freeing not to chase roommates down for their share of the rent.

I’ve cut back on my expenses even more by no longer paying for WiFi or electric bills, and doing laundry at home instead of a laundromat.

My parents have always purchased enough food for a full household, even when they were empty nesters.

This means food is rarely in short supply, and my grocery bill is less, too.

Luckily, they also stock up on some great snacks and subscribe to a weekly May through October Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) box full of organic produce that I cannot get enough of.

To further contribute to the household, I like to offer support through physical labor and chores.

Personally, I love to cook, bake, and run errands for the family.

I also run errands for my grandmother, who lives close by, which helps me check in with her more regularly.

Living with my parents in my 30s is very different from when I was a kid or even a teenager.

I had been away for a number of years, living in other cities and on my own, and that independence has earned me more of my parents’ trust.

They now realize I am too old for rules — for the most part.

In time, they have backed down on strict curfews and specific chore guidelines.

We’ve also been able to have important conversations around expectations.

I’ve made it clear that respecting this household and keeping my parents informed about my plans is still important to me, but that it might look different now that I’m older.

For example, when I first moved back, my dad was constantly checking in on me.

It was difficult to deal with, especially because I’m a freelance creative with a varied social life and shifting schedule.

Still, I can understand a father worrying about their kid.

A brief chat about my age and level of responsibility helped us find common ground and build trust around checking in as needed.

Sharing a space with my parents as an adult has also helped me see them as they are now, from a perspective that is so different and less selfish than the one I had in my adolescence.

I have gotten to work alongside them and admire the career people they are firsthand.

I enjoy their respective skills and hobbies, and even the lively debates we stir up while watching a new TV show.

Moving back home wasn’t such a step backward after all.

I have been able to jump into the gig economy full force, contribute regularly to the household, and spend time with family.

My “few months” at home with my parents has turned into four years.

Although I have plenty of savings that would allow me to move out and live comfortably, I’ve taken my time finding a stable living situation that makes sense for me.

However, leaving home and all its comforts will be a lot harder than I thought this time around.

Still, no matter where I end up, I’ll continue to connect with my parents, whether taking my mom to concerts or trying new burger spots with my dad.

I will also still offer to pick up sticks from the river birches in their backyard that I made them promise not to get rid of.

Everyone’s timeline is unique and circumstances are different.

I feel lucky — not embarrassed — I’ve got family to fall back on.

And my parents will (most likely) always be my favorite roommates.

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