I have lived in the same home for 18years, and in the same town all my life so when my parents decided it was time for them to pack up and move out to the coast and countryside for a quieter life I had to start preparing. Now my parents have always joked about moving house, when I was at Uni and when I went travelling. Each time it was "Oh we might not be here when you get home". But they never did, not finding the right time or place.
But it has happened, and it happened fast. Within the space of me getting a new exciting internship (been here three months now!) my parents sold our home and found the country house of their dreams in Dorset and moved-in last week. At 23 I should be at the age to move out, find my own place and be wanting to get away from the parents, but truth be told I love my family and have never resented living at home (oh and I have no money, so that slows down the process).
It has been emotional, with such a quick move I didn't really have the time to believe it was happening (denial is it? Yes I think so), I just went along with packing up my room, doing some big clear outs and just accepted what was happening. One of my most emotional attachments was to my sofa (I know, tragic) but that sofa has seen me through some bad times, many a hangover, illness, movie marathons and dramatic TV finales, so I am allowed to miss it. My dad took no mercy and took pleasure in chopping it up into tiny pieces (it didn't make the requirements to move to the new home. Sob). And my bedroom, as everyone knows a bedroom is a sanctuary. I grew up there, I went from Beanie Babies and Bratz dolls to computer games and make-up, to hundreds of ELLE magazines, study days and TV boxsets. I have had more bedroom re-vamps than I can remember, got dolled up and re-dressed a thousands times, hosted many a girly sleep-over with my best friends and spent many an hour dreaming about my future. A room is not just a room.
It has been a week since the move and so far I don't think it has properly sunk in. I am now living with my boyfriend (which has it's own challenges, but I absolutely love it... so far) and because I spent so much time there anyway it just feels like I haven't gone home for the week. I know that when I go visit my parents in Dorset it will feel like going on holiday, not going home. Not yet anyway. I'm sure to make my mark there, to get the chance to create a new oasis for me, one that will actually be much more relaxing and probably more inspiring to me. But if I ever drive past the old house, that feeling of 'there's someone living in my room' doesn't disappear, not for me. I am known to get emotionally attached to things and places, so my family home is definitely one. How can it not be? When I made most of my life long friendships there, through hours in my garden hosting parties, trampolining, having family BBQ's and enjoying my childhood.
It was great to get all the family round a couple of weeks ago for one big summer BBQ (in the slight drizzle... It is an English summers BBQ after all. Nanny was wise and sat in the doorway). I wish my parents all the luck in the world at their new home and I can't wait to go join them and make my mark on the sleepy village.
On to a new chapter...