Sometimes, it feels weird that I did not move out of my parents’ home until I was 33. Before making the move, I looked at two other housing options 12 years prior and was nearly dedicated to one that seemed very strange, yet I backed out at the last minute. But in 2018 at the age of 33, I made the move to my first apartment after living nearly a decade and a half in fear of doing so.

After coming of age and after attending trade school, there was always an inkling to live on my own. While I am fortunate to have supportive and loving parents, the dynamic in which I had to live was challenging. Personalities, through no fault of my own conflicted and due to the location of my parents’ home, I couldn’t leave on my own, thus leaving me trapped in a vacuum of being treated like a child because I was seen as such.

The first apartment I looked in was in an old school that is still today managed by a couple who would eventually become close friends of ours through my weight loss support group. It was a nice apartment and while it lacked an elevator to access it on the second floor, which seemed unconventional at the time, I wanted to move. Yet, I lacked the skills necessary to maintain it because I was unwilling to learn, or even try to learn. I was 21 at the time and was not 21 developmentally. I regretfully turned it down, but that couple I met there are still good friends with us to this day.

The next opportunity would be thought of me almost a decade later. I had got the “move out bug” through some peers at the day program. It was a supportive housing situation called a Fairweather Lodge. It is a house that has locked rooms made to HUD (Housing and Urban Development) specifications, but had shared bathrooms and other facilities, not totally what I wanted. It also had many variables to it that were strange and prohibitive to the life that I was having at the time, including the “need” to be homeless. While this was done out of my wanting to move out on my own, my parents thought that I did not include them, nor did I think things totally through. I withdrew my offer and went back to square one.

I still had the urge to move out on my own, but I knew that it had to be an inclusive effort. It took a few years of talk therapy and getting a supportive housing specialist through the county mental health office and in 2018 I applied and was chosen to live in a high-rise. I fought the fears and made the move even though my anxiety was heightened when I was making the move, I was successful in moving.

However, it was not perfect in many ways. I was not totally equipped with the skills I needed to be independent at the time, thus making the living arrangement less than desirable. In addition, I was not adhering completely to my medication regimen and as such my behavior became out of sorts and I was doing things that did not seem normal for me. Eventually, my employer and the program director of my day program got in touch with my therapist, and they had a sit down with me. While I did seem to be stable at the time, it was just too late, because I just didn’t take what I was told to heart and still wasn’t totally adherent to my medication.

Eventually that, my unwillingness to take care of my living situation combined with a other things with the high rise that were beyond my control caused me to abandon the apartment and live with my parents until things from the building’s standpoint was taken care of. Then the COVID-19 Pandemic hit, and shutdowns were enforced, this making me constantly stay at home. By the end of the initial shutdown, my mental health took a serious toll, and I had some near brushes of losing everything. Thankfully, through divine intervention, I was saved out of crisis and worked on things for the time being.

As the initial COVID-19 shutdowns ceased, there was an attempt to move me back into my first apartment, but for many reasons it did not seem viable. Therefore, as much as I regretted, I had to give it up and start back all over again. A decision that was not easy, but for many reasons was necessary. I immediately realized that I missed my independence and started pounding the pavement as support was not available due to the pandemic.

Eventually nearly 3 years ago, while reading the local paper, I saw an advertisement for public housing through the local housing authority. I called and to my dismay I did not qualify for the apartments in question due to my age. However, the next day, I would receive a phone call from the housing authority asking me if I would like to see my current apartment.

Before making the decision, my parents had reservations about things, but I was the one this time that I assured them that this a needed move and that chances like this are one and a million in our community and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to live independently again, as I sensed that I would not be long before another massive mental health episode would appear from the way that things were.

After meeting with the manager at the time at the office, we followed them to what is now my current apartment. We discussed my former apartment and within the next week, I had completed the paperwork and moved in. Even as I near my third year of living here, I am still doing more to make it feel more comfortable for me, although there have been some wild moments due to not thinking clearly. However, the last few months have been a turning point for me, and I am starting to see clearer more and more every day.

For some time since moving here, I had some anger and regret about it. It took until one day I had made a list of pros and cons that I realized that I had made the right decision. My home is good enough for me and has many advantages that outweigh the disadvantages. Now that things are finally better for me overall, and this being the longest that I lived anywhere on my own, I know that it things worked the way they did for a reason.