Rebuilding My Money Life From Zero At Home

Earlier this year, sitting in my cute little $1200-a-month apartment, staring at the confirmation email after paying my $755 car note—a result of one poor choice layered on top of another—I realized I couldn’t keep living like this. I was stretched thin, exhausted, and sinking deeper into a lifestyle that looked fine on the outside but felt like absolute chaos on the inside.

I’d been venting to my mom for weeks about how overwhelmed I was financially and emotionally. Her solution?
“Just move back home.”

Now look… listen.
The idea of moving back home felt worse than the situation I was already in. Logically, yes—it was financially smart. Emotionally? It felt like stepping backwards into a part of my life I thought I’d outgrown. I worried about losing my freedom, my routine, and honestly… my sanity.

But the truth is, I didn’t really have a choice.

The honeymoon phase

At first, it was nice. My parents are older (mid to late 70s), and it was comforting seeing them every day. I got to enjoy my mom’s homecooked meals occasionally (because let’s be honest, I am absolutely hopeless in the kitchen). And after work, having someone to talk to felt… warm. Familiar. Safe.

I even let myself think, “Okay, maybe I can enjoy this new chapter.”

But that wore off quickly.

Because very soon, I remembered something extremely important about myself:
I love living alone.

I thrive in my solitude. Just me and my two cats. My little apartment gave me freedom, independence, and a space that was entirely mine.

Now? I feel stuck. I feel like I’ve regressed. Like I’m clawing at the walls of my childhood bedroom, desperate to get back to the life I worked so hard to build.

The shame no one talks about

Not many people know I moved back home. Only two friends outside of my family know—and honestly, the only reason anyone in my family knows is because my dad cannot resist telling my business. (Another reason I regret moving back.)

It’s embarrassing. Even though I know logically I shouldn’t feel any shame, I do. I’ve tried to rationalize it:

“It’s temporary.”
“It’s the smart choice.”
“This will help you dig out of debt.”

But the shame lingers.
It makes me feel like I’ve failed at adulthood. Like everyone else hit their life milestones—marriage, kids, houses, stability—and I’m still stuck trying to pass Level One.

Sometimes taking two steps back is necessary.

I’m 34. Never married. No kids. I should be traveling, going out, being that cool aunt everyone brags about.
Instead… I’m here. In my childhood bedroom. Running numbers on how much money I’ll have left to save and survive for two weeks after paying down my debt.

Counting the cost — and the gratitude

Here’s the thing I try to remind myself:
Not everyone has the option to move back home when they need a reset. I know how fortunate I am, and I don’t take that for granted.

But I’m also not going to pretend.

Moving back home at 34 feels like a failure sometimes.
There are days I genuinely feel like an absolute loser. And I’m not going to lie about that.

But I also know something else:

This isn’t the end.

In the near future, I will travel. I will move out again. I will get my freedom back and build a life that actually feels like mine.

Right now, I’m learning to sit in this uncomfortable space between shame and hope, between frustration and growth. I’m learning that sometimes stepping back is the only way to move forward.

If you’re in the same place

If you’re feeling stuck, embarrassed, or like you’ve “fallen behind,” I hope you’re giving yourself the same grace I’m trying to give myself.

You are not alone.
You are not failing.
You are not done.

You’re just in the messy middle—and sometimes, that’s exactly where the story starts to change.