The Best Thing I Did For My Mental Health Was Move Back In With My Mom at 30

In my house, there's a famous story about me as a toddler, crying at the front door with an empty backpack because I wasn't allowed to go to school with my sisters. My mom says she had been looking forward to having one-on-one time with her last baby, but I had other plans. On my first day of kindergarten, I barely hugged her goodbye before running into the classroom — eager to grow up, impress the class with my shiny Barbie backpack, and finally be a big girl.

That desire to launch never really left me. I spent my teenage years on Tumblr, making mood boards and dreaming of swapping the palm trees of Oahu for New York City skylines. And by my early twenties, I'd done it. I moved to Brooklyn, and after many internships, I was doing social media for a media publication and building a life that looked shiny from the outside. I remember walking through SoHo on the way to work, thinking, Wow, this is exactly what I dreamt of as a little girl. But that life was expensive, lonely, depressing — and far from home.

In July 2022, that glittering "dream" came to a halt. I was laid off from my job and the career I'd worked so hard for. I was burnt out. Broke. Emotionally fried. And suddenly, the most grown-up decision I could make wasn't to keep pushing forward — it was to go home.

It wasn't an easy choice to move home, but I felt like my back was against a wall. I had been applying for jobs to no avail and I knew after my two months of severance that I wouldn't be able to pay rent on my sparkly apartment. I had also racked up about $18,000 in debt over the eight years I lived in Brooklyn, and so many of my community had left during the pandemic. Don't even get me started on my dismal love life out there.

So I did it. I moved back into my childhood home at 29, feeling like a wounded puppy. I had left home a starry-eyed 21-year-old who swore she'd never return. And now I was back, in the same house, the same room, with the same parents. It felt like regression. My childhood poster of a unicorn in front of a rainbow that reads "Believe Your Dreams" felt like it was taunting me.

I knew moving home would help me financially, but I had no idea how much it would heal me: emotionally, in my relationship with my parents, and even in reconnecting with my younger self. I didn't expect to find so much strength in the most familiar place I know.

Growing up, my mom and I had been close — the baby and the mom with birthdays a week apart. But we clashed . . . or I should say, I clashed with her, especially as a teen, and questioned her choices — especially marrying my dad, who I didn't click with. He was always yelling on the phone, always working, always too intense. I didn't understand her patience, her calm, her relentless positivity. I struggled with anxiety and depression. I couldn't understand how she could stay so sunny, so steady, when I felt like I was falling apart. She was the sun, and I felt like a rainstorm.

But back under the same roof — this time as an adult — something shifted.

My parents, now in their seventies, had softened. They surprisingly treated me like a grown-up. I had autonomy. I could eat what I wanted, leave when needed, and draw boundaries that made me feel like I wasn't reverting to childhood but learning to live alongside them in a new way. And sometimes, they babied me too — something I didn't realize how badly I needed.

Little things brought us closer: fixing my dad's wild eyebrows, forcing them to go bowling, and watching "Vanderpump Rules." I began to see them differently — not just as parents, but as people (shocker, I know).

And something clicked. I saw my mom's light not as something naïve or overly optimistic but as something earned. Something chosen. My mom lost her dad at 21, her sister at 31, and her mom at 41. In her 50s, she caught breast cancer early enough to have a mastectomy. And not to mention, she raised four daughters, all born within 18 months of each other. Life didn't spare her, but she chose joy. She still chooses it every single day.

That idea — choosing — became the heart of what I was learning. I once asked my parents what the secret to marriage was, and my mom said simply, "Choosing to make it work." She and my dad didn't have a perfect relationship. He was intense. She was calm. He was loud. She was steady. But she saw the good in him — the humor, the generosity, the shared roots of their hometown. And she chose him, over and over, just like her parents had chosen each other. Just like she kept showing up for herself and us.

For the first time, I understood what that meant. I stopped seeing her as someone who just "put up" with things. I saw strength in the way she didn't retreat when things got hard — in her marriage, in her grief, even with me. I began to realize I'd spent a lot of time blaming my dad for my slew of mental health issues and blaming my mom for staying. But the more I understood them, the more I healed my relationship with each of them and myself.Don't get me wrong — it wasn't perfect. Every time I left my room, my dad would guilt-trip me for not spending enough time with them, even though I was literally living there. I thought dating would be impossible, but somehow I found the one guy who still insisted on bringing my mom flowers on our first date.

What was supposed to be just a couple of months turned into nearly two years. Eventually, that guy and I moved into our own tiny apartment.

I've always chased independence. I've always wanted to be a big girl. But I learned from going home that growing up isn't about doing everything on your own. Sometimes, it's about asking for help. Sometimes, it's about choosing empathy over ego. Sometimes, it's about looking at your parents not as people who failed you but as people who did their best.

I'm thankful for my mom's love this Mother's Day, but even more than that, I'm grateful for her example. For showing me that lightness is not weakness. That positivity isn't delusion — it's resilience. And that the most grown-up thing I've ever done is go home, sit beside her in the sun, and start again.

Caelan Hughes is a pop culture writer and reporter based in Honolulu, HI, covering celebrity news, entertainment, and internet trends. Her work has appeared in People, Hawaii News Now, BuzzFeed, and Seventeen magazine.