I don't ask for much. I got a job at fifteen to help my parents. I bought my own clothes, paid for my phone and helped them in whatever way possible. I moved out of my parents house two months after turning nineteen to the big city of Charlotte into a one bedroom apartment. I've struggled to support myself since I moved out almost four years ago. I've never gone without, but I've lived a pretty lean life.
Recently, my parents went under contract on a house. The house was going to have four bedrooms for my parents and my youngest brother. As I was figuring out the logistics of getting my Master's degree and the financial debt I'd be in, I began to stress a bit. Being the overly independent woman that I am, asking for help is humiliating. But, I've managed to live on my own for {nearly} four years and am still debt free. Quite an accomplishment, right? I'd have to "throw that away" to get my Master's. For weeks, I debated asking my parents if I could move in with them when they moved into their house.
I'd joked around about the whole moving in with them thing. I was having dinner with them one evening and wanted to make it more concrete. With knots in my stomach, I struck up the courage to ask them. The conversation went a little something like this... "So, I'm looking into getting my Master's degree after graduation. It's going to cost a lot of money. What do you think about me moving in when you move into your house?" My mom, dead serious, asked me how much I paid in rent now. I told her. She said I could pay one dollar less. For the next few hours, we argued about this.
I went home irate. My parents had to know how independent I am. They had to know how much it took out of me to ask them if I could loose all of my independence and move back home after {nearly} four years of living under my own roof. For them to tell me that they were unwilling to support this bold endeavour without a rent check from me hurt more than anything.
For a month, I didn't talk to them. I didn't call. I didn't text. I ignored their calls. I ignored their texts. I was stepping out and making one of the boldest decisions in my life. I wasn't asking them for money. I was asking if they could allow me to have an extra bedroom in their grandiose house. Four weeks into not talking to my parents, I began trying to figure out how we could move past this. I woke up one Sunday to the most hurtful email from my mom, telling me how selfish I was to ask them and explaining how much they already do for me without appreciation from me.
One thing led to another, and we ended up "talking". I yelled. I cried. It could be said that we "fixed" everything. While I am pouring my heart out to my mom, about a dream that I have for my life, a dream which she continually tells me will never happen, I was looking on twitter. The dream that I had, the dream that I was defending, the dream that I was believing God to fulfill, had once again been shot down. I couldn't tell my mom that once again I'd been passed up for this dream of mine.Thus began the funk...
Tomorrow, how deep the funk got...
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