Hi. I'm 36 and I Live With My Mother

For Loret...

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that suppose to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.

~Toni Morrison, Beloved

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"Hi. I’m 36 years old and I live with my mother." A sentence a fiercely strong willed, independent and proud young woman such as myself shudders to utter. Given the fact that I’m also unemployed and my hair falls out at an alarming rate, visions of that Seinfeld episode in which George does the opposite and Elaine suddenly realizes with horror “I’ve become George!” come quickly to mind. However, such is life; sometimes you just have to suck it up and do what you need to do. What does Jagger say again? “You can’t always get what you want; well if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need”.

The Coles Notes preface (can I actually give a Coles Notes version of anything??!!) to “I’m 36 and living with my mother” goes like this. After deciding to get separate apartments it quickly became apparent that 1. The ratio of available rentals far exceeded the number of needy renters (a gong show that is a blog of its own) and 2. There was no possible way I could afford any of said apartments anyways. Stressed out about the process of apartment hunting – showing up to a bachelor apartment with 50 other people (I am NOT exaggerating) all viewing the suite simultaneously and feeling despondent about my prospects (I’m pretty sure most of the other prospective renters actually had jobs and a real income!), I didn’t know what I was going to do.

One night while visiting my mom, lamenting about my situation and generally feeling paralyzed about the situation, she, God bless her, offered to take me in temporarily until we could sort out social housing or something. It felt like a huge warm hug and more importantly gave me my breath back. I applaud my mother for never severing her role as my parent and the responsibility that comes with that (in this case doing whatever she can to ensure I have a roof over my head). My mother does not see her responsibility as a parent ending when her children become adults. She strongly encourages our independence and holds us accountable, but would do anything she possibly could to help her grown children in times of need. I am thankful every day for her.

Okay, so where were we? Oh yes. For the past 3 months I have been living at Chez Loret. Chez Loret is a fabulous one bedroom apartment in the heart of the West End. Bright, 10 stories up, a block from the beach and views to the north, west and south. She graciously gave up her bedroom, leaving me with a view of the water and North Shore mountains – wonderful inspiration for writing. In my defense, I did try to insist that we trade off who sleeps in the bed, but she insisted she always sleeps on the couch anyways, and we all know you can only argue with your mother on issues such as this so much before giving in. I turned the bedroom into my own space, Loret insisting we pack away all traces of her belongings. Again, so important for me, especially in this situation that was so difficult for me to swallow.

While it hurt the ego to move "home", the situation has worked out wonderfully in many ways. Financially it has helped us both, as Loret gave me a good deal on rent and said rent was extra income for her. I’ve done the cooking and provided laundry service while Loret will always do the dishes and insists on doing the majority of the housework! I try to help, but it’s like I said, some things can’t be argued. I have even trained Loret to recycle so the earth is happier now! I think it has also been good for my mom to see what I am like day in and day out and perhaps this has given her more insight into my illness (not that I think she needed it). Most importantly, we have managed to maintain our boundaries as both mother and daughter and as friends. For that I am so thankful because I know it is my mom who respects those boundaries and knows how to ensure they remain intact. Living together, we have been roomies. She has only been my mother when I needed or wanted her to be my mother. She is incredibly gifted at taking care of the boundaries in relationships. I learn so much from my mom in this area.

So, while it is all good, ultimately, “I am 36 and living with my mother” is not rolling off my tongue with any more pleasure. We are two women living in a one bedroom apartment. I need my space. I am that person who likes to be alone. If I go long periods of time without at least 24 hours straight to myself, my sanity starts moving towards insanity. I treasure my personal space as if it were a rare antique – worth millions or billions but never worth enough to give up. I’m a girl who likes to be in control of her surroundings and ultimately in charge of what it all looks and feels like. Space equals freedom. And for me, having my own apartment is probably one of the few things I have left that makes me feel “normal” in comparison to my peers. And so it is that while living at Chez Loret has been good, and I am ever grateful to my mom for coming through for me at a time when I really needed a hand to pull me out of something I couldn’t pull myself out of, it is now time to think about moving on.