I'm the child of serial renters.
My family would plop down in one suburb, in one city, in one state and make a life there until a year or two had gone by and then, for some reason or another, we'd pack up everything that mattered and move somewhere else.
All in all, over the past 25 years, I've lived in 23 houses. Sometimes in two places at once.
Watch: Formerly homeless people share what you can give to really make a difference. Post continues after video.
I'm grateful I've always had somewhere warm and cosy to lay my head down at night. A place to hang up my photo frames with a full fridge and a fully stocked cupboard. My homes have always been filled with laughter. I'm one of the lucky ones, truly.
But living in so many places, in such short succession, has been about as unsettling as one could imagine.
Nowhere really feels like home. The only place that ever did was my grandparents' house, and when they sold it, I was 16 years old and cried enough tears to wash every memory in that place away.
Now that I'm an adult (eek), I've been faced with the torture of making my own decisions, choosing where I live and deciding what becomes of my life. But I've been lucky in this aspect, too. I've gotten to live with my best friend for five years, in three different homes. We've decorated every single corner and made it a place that I felt excited to come back too at the end of the day.
Top Comments