The Mixed Emotions of Being Home

By Aisling McLoughlin

Illustration by Roisin McGrath

The transition of coming back home after several years of independence has been nothing short of an adjustment.

I loved making Galway my new home, and being so close to the sea wherever I was in the city was truly mind-blowing to me, especially after spending the last thirteen years in Cork where I was more remote, heavily relying on lifts to venture out as I never actually learnt how to drive despite my efforts.

Moving away marked the beginning of adolescence and more independence, of no longer needing my parents in the same way I once did. Little did I know what was to come over the next three years.

Those years would really define and shape who I am. It was amazing to see the world through my own lens and experience everything on my terms. I was fully free to make my own decisions as there was no one to shelter me or to blame for the following decisions I made.

Packing up my bedroom knowing I was returning home was an odd feeling. I wasn’t just returning home for a season, I was returning home for a longer period of my life; the lull period I’ve deemed it. Where nothing exciting really happens as this is my first real taste of the adult world while I prepare for the next step of my life.

The next step has been pre-planned for several months as I knew living at home couldn’t last long, or I would begin to lose my mind. Let me preface this by saying that I had preconceived notions of moving home, and these turned out to be a lot more different than what it is in reality.

I never got to explore and experience Cork as an adult, and I still thought of it the same way I did as a teenager, which is where my initial issues lied. All my friends were also adults with other lives to the ones we once had, so although I had stayed in touch with friends and been back down to Cork every so often, it was going to be an entirely different experience.

Going out and pretending to be a UCC student has actually been really fun with the most surprising part of it being that I don’t know as many people as I used to. More surprisingly when I do go out I still get asked by my parents at the ripe age of twenty-two, “where are you going, who are you going out with and when will you be home”. Nothing lets you know that you’re living at home more than that.

It took my friends and I time to adjust to the fact that we didn’t have to cram three months' worth of activities into a singular long weekend. There are far more impromptu coffee dates and after work pints just for a weekly catch up, no longer a PowerPoint presentation worthy compilation of life updates. This is my favourite part of being home, just being more present in the lives of my friends and here to share the ups and downs, not just over a phone screen. I’m so grateful for these moments as I always dread the long goodbye after these weekends because no one knew when both our schedules would align and I’d come back home. I’m glad I haven’t had to do this for a while.

I remember saying goodbye to the first house mate who had moved out for the summer and sobbing so deeply it hurt. Before Andrew went out the door he hugged me so tightly as he had many times before in our cosy kitchen and said he’d see me later. I promised that I’d come up and visit during the semester. That’s when it hit, that I wasn’t going to live with those friends who had become my second family again. Everything can’t stay the same forever but I really wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. I was the only one who was graduating that year so moving on without them just felt heart-breaking.

It was same with all my other friends I had made, as they all looked after me in final year and I couldn’t return the favour. I still see what they’re up to on socials and make my best attempt at staying in contact although I’m not the best at texting. I have had the occasional visit from friends which always has me looking forward to something, but the lonely feeling of missing out and missing them still persists, definitely not being made any better while I do all this in my childhood bedroom. That feels like a step backwards.

The nostalgia of a childhood bedroom shows just how far you’ve come through the time capsule of items that have been held onto for years. It made me feel sixteen again and that’s generally how I’ve felt being back home at times. The memories of sleepovers with my friends, pre-drinking together before parties, and projector film nights remind me of how much fun home can be and how I’ll have lots more memories to make before I pack up my belongings for the final time. Having the chance to prepare myself for the future that is to come has been a blessing although I could certainly argue this statement.

I have been able to unlock pieces of my younger self and let her live out her dreams of what she thought her early twenties would be like, although it’s not exactly what she would have expected. I’ve once again become more comfortable and adjusted to life at home, so ultimately when the time comes for me to go there will be tears shed with pieces of relief too.

I long to move on with my life but I will forever miss what I leave behind because change is frightening; whether that be a step forward or a step back. I will always have a home in Cork, and honestly who knows where I’ll end up. But for now I’ll attempt to soak up the last pieces of this period of time at home.