At about the one year mark of living with my mom I decided to move out, get a full-time job, and rent a room. I think it lasted one night. I lay shaking with anxiety and fear in my rented bed and the next day called my mom and said I wanted to come home. I even asked her to pack up my room; I was so ashamed for failing that I couldn’t face my housemates. Nothing like a messy, miserable defeat complete with a pathetic letter to your ex-housemates begging to be let out of yet another lease to bolster you for the downward social position of going back to moms and trying again for yet another low-level secretarial post through a crappy temp agency.
Thank God that was 20 years ago!
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