'I've reverted to teenage me.' I'm 30 and I've just had to move back in with my parents.

I first moved out of home when I was 17, after a childhood and teen hood spent in desperation to leave was finally enabled. This decision to leave home somewhat early wasn’t to do with my family, but to do with me and my desire to explore. Growing up in Christchurch, New Zealand, also known as the edge of the earth, was never easy for my intrepid soul.

However, right now, I live with my parents, back in Christchurch, and I’m 30 years old.

Why is this? As you can imagine, it’s not exactly by choice. Instead, it’s for a myriad of reasons, finances being the overarching theme. I’ve recently spent time between Italy and Los Angeles, gallivanting around the globe whilst doing my best to sustain a remote, freelance career. Unfortunately, I can’t sustain this whilst also sustaining some kind of fabulous apartment in the middle of Sydney or Melbourne, much as I would like that. So in a bid to be realistic, I have spent almost four of the last seven months at home with my folks.

Initially, I came here for a planned stint over summer, that being the first of two stints of two months, but this time, my reason for being back home has been solely focused on work, returning to a base where I can make up for lost time and a depleted bank account.

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As a freelance creative with three big deadlines having recently loomed (finishing a non-fiction book for the publishers, finishing my first novel for myself, and finishing the second season of my podcast without a co-producer) I knew I wasn’t going to get everything done whilst also adhering to inner-city overheads on the mainland as, unfortunately, I am not yet made of time nor money.

So what’s it been like being back after so much time away adulting in Australia? Being the child again has meant I have absolutely found myself reverting to old habits and dynamics, this is whilst also enjoying the adult relationship I now have with my parents. The teenage-esqe bickering with my mum is balanced out by watching White Lotus and drinking Chardonnay together after work. It’s Dad rolling his eyes at me when I ask to borrow the car as, sure, I’ve been responsible for a few dings in the past, but over a decade later I can assure you I know how to drive! It’s as though I’m 30 going on 13. It’s a mixed feeling of a lack of freedom being under someone else’s roof with enabled freedoms because the usual pressures of life are on pause.

It has also been a source of much-needed emotional support. I’ve come here with a need to be nurtured, watered and fed. In between adventures and deadlines I’m honestly feeling a little worn out, vulnerable as I up-level, like a hermit crab moving between one shell to the next. My chosen career can be creatively crushing at times, and has been in recent weeks. Knowing I can have a quick cry to my parents after bad feedback or being let down by a deal has been a saviour (and saved me in therapy bills).

It’s also been an opportunity for review and introspection. Yes, at 30 I really do wish I had more to show for myself, I judge myself for not seemingly "having it together" (even though I’m a healthy person, doing what I want with my life, who can ask for more than that?). When I was a teenager I didn’t have a clear idea of exactly how I wanted my adulthood to be, but I certainly didn’t predict I’d be dossing at Mum and Dad’s at this point.

The other thing of course, is that wherever you go, there you are. I might have temporarily rid myself of the need to pay rent, but I’m still stuck with my same old self-doubts and anxieties - even if the sleepless nights those feelings create are spent in my parents cosy spare room. Like a turtle hauling around a shell of shame, I’m stuck with myself - though this is when I must remember I’m that hermit crab too, in the midst of moving on.

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The last time I’d spent this much time in the family home was when I had broken my back. At age 19 I went from living in a fun student flat in Wellington to being cooped up in the spinal unit at a hospital in my hometown, followed by a period of time in which I was completely reliant on my family again. I literally could not walk, feed or bathe myself for months. One small accident meant I was like a 19-year-old infant, certainly an experience which was a hell of a lot harder than anything I’m going through now.

I guess that’s the reason we return home, those moments of near-paralysis in which we have to heal. A divorce, a mental health breakdown, a physical health crisis, creative deadlines to meet after dedicating one's finances to plane tickets… It’s those moments when we have to learn to walk again that we need our family.

There’s obviously a huge privilege component to this. Beyond my parents being middle-class and able to comfortably afford to put me up, my parents are still together and run a relatively harmonious home. I also get on well with my family. I know that is not the case for everyone.

As for my parents, I wouldn’t say they’re thrilled with this setup. They might cramp my style but I am encroaching on their personal space (and the joys of their hard-earned semi-retirement.)

At this point, after a spread out 15 weeks together, I think we’re all ready for me to move on. As a result, I’m headed back to Australia next week for the first time in what feels like a long time. And I’ll tell you what, I’m nervous to be a grown up again. I might have been relatively self-sufficient for the past 13 years but now it feels like I’ve really got to go out on my own.

In the meantime, what’s for dinner, Mum?

For more about Charlotte, check out her Instagram here.

Feature Image: Supplied.