I’m moving out of home.
Again.
The first time I moved out it was away from my parents. Now I’m moving away from my children.
It’s not really that I want to get away from them, that’s just a consequence of me moving in with my boyfriend. And now that I think about it, that’s what I did when I moved away from my parents’ house as well.
Plus ca change!
I’ve spent years telling my kids that if they didn’t move out when they turned 20, then I’d move away from them. And now I am, even though the youngest isn’t 20 yet.
So why is it so hard????
Well, apart from me having stuff in 2 households – and always the wrong one of course. It seems that everytime I look for something it is at the other house.
And there’s the worry of not having anywhere for my kids to live yet.
That’s not the problem, they’re details that we’ll work out. It’s the emotional impact I wasn’t quite prepared for.
I was mucking around with Damien (the boyfriend) at his place the other night and I said to him “I want to go home”
He looked me in the eye and responded “You are home.”
I promptly burst into tears and then sobbed myself to sleep that night.
I’ll miss my kids terribly. It’s been just me and them for the last 17 years.
But more than that, I feel guilty. How can I leave my babies alone in the world? How will they survive without me?
I was 17 when I moved out of home. So why do I feel like such a bad mother for forcing my 19 & 20 year olds to fend for themselves. And it’s not even as if they are doing all the fending.
I’m helping them to look for a flat. I’m packing and moving them. And I’m paying their bond and helping them with their ongoing expenses while the youngest is at uni.
I guess I’ll cut the apron strings soon. Probably sooner rather than later if I have to look at any more shithole flats that should be condemned. But that’s another story …
