When I was 16, I wrote in my journal, “I want to live in a loft in a big city, maybe New York or Boston, or somewhere you can look down at the streets and hear the hum of cars and people walking their dogs.”
I wanted a cute window and desk, a full bookshelf, a color-coded closet, and leather boots. I wanted to be a writer or at least work writing-adjacent, and I ended my journal entry by saying, “I want somewhere I can feel creative and at ease and always to feel like I can pursue my dreams.”
And you know what? I got my vision.
Although it was DC, it wasn’t a loft because I needed a roommate, and I didn’t color-code my closet until after I reread my journal. All the same, I had the leather boots, the cute window, and, most importantly, the full bookshelf.
I got my dream and then had to give up on it
Two years out from graduation, I had what I said I wanted, plus some. I had a big girl job, an apartment, a car, my own health insurance. There were certain things I had still relied on my parents for, like the phone bill, our Netflix subscription, flights home, and some help with car bills, but for the most part, I was independent.
Then, I found out I had breast cancer, and that all shattered. In the span of a week, I decided to pack up my stuff and move 2,000 miles back to my hometown in Arizona.
It may have looked like a quick decision, but to me, it was a no-brainer. I could stay in the city, sick, with my apartment and insurance bills eating away at my savings while my disability check went straight to student loans, or I could move home where I would not only be cared for, but my financial stress would be relieved, too.
I was upset about leaving my furniture behind since I bought a lot of it using my “hard-earned” grad money. To me, a symbol of adulthood was owning your own bedroom furniture, and there I was, sentencing it all to be sold on Facebook Marketplace by my roommate one day.
My parents helped me out with bills
My parents were generous enough to help pay my rent, my medical bills, and my car insurance, not to mention everyday purchases like gas and groceries, while I began cancer treatment and went on medical leave. I was double-insured with my family’s plan, so when my personal insurance expired, I was still covered.
I had had a job — sometimes two — since before I could drive, and it felt like I never got a break. Unlike some of my peers who job-hunted the summer after graduation, I had worked 30 hours a week starting in the spring, then jumped into a full-time job.
In some ways, cancer was my body forcing me to take a break. I had to learn how to rely on my family again and trust they would be there with a safety net.
I felt like a failure
I felt ashamed that I needed to move back. Gen Z gets a bad rap for being late bloomers — we’re taking longer to move out, find love, and afford big-ticket items. I went to college on the East Coast with the hopes I’d end up with a decently paying job and space of my own. I wanted to prove I wasn’t a generational stereotype. I had worked hard to be where I was.
In my mind, moving back in with my parents meant I had failed. Days before my departure, as my father and I sat in a bar a couple of miles away from the White House, he told me that just because I was leaving DC didn’t mean I hadn’t done what I said I was going to do. I needed to be proud of my accomplishments, even if I was moving away from them.
I re-read the journal entry I wrote at 16 and wrote a follow-up a couple of months before I was diagnosed with cancer. In it, I say, “I might not feel too much at ease sometimes, but I do feel creative, and I am pursuing my dreams.”
Even though I’m back where I started, that still rings true. In my father’s words, “You did it.”
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