Sitting here writing this first post, I’m
overwhelmed with a strange and confusing mix of emotions.
I recently made the decision to move back
in with my parents to try and save enough money for a house deposit. Last night was my first ‘official’ night back
in mum and dad’s house, and while it was comforting to be in a place that I
knew and loved living in for many years with my wonderful parents, it was also
a bit deflating. I’ve been living on my
own for the past two and a half years, and have always been really proud of the
fact that I’ve been doing it on my own.
I am fiercely independent (perhaps akin to being a bit of a control
freak), and can’t help feeling like this latest move is a step backwards. Regardless of the fact that I know the long
term gains of this strategy are massive, it was a hard decision for me to
stomach for a good few months. In the
end, I knew if I didn’t do it now, I probably never would, and in a few years I
would be in the exact same situation I’m in now. That situation would be broke and going
nowhere, which for an extremely goal orientated person, just feels completely
crap.
So I did it. I moved home, and I’m now sitting on my bed,
in my old room, trying to convince myself that it was all worth it. That the ‘what time will you be home’ texts I
will inevitably get from mum are just her looking out for me, not her trying to
stifle my independence. That the change
of rules for my dog and cat will be good for them. That the way my dad cooks spaghetti is just
as good as the alternate way I cook spaghetti.
That removing myself from a huge part of how I defined myself was actually
in my best interest.
Now, I don’t want people to think for a
second that I’m not happy with my parents, or that we don’t get along. We do, and I feel extremely blessed to be part
of such a tight knit family, and a family that would open me back into their
home with open arms. The only problem
with getting along with my parents so well, is that it’s because we’re exactly the
same people. Mum in particular is my
older, slightly shorter clone. I’ve been
lucky enough to inherit her stubbornness, her tenacity and her sometimes
profound inability to show the correct emotion in delicate situations. And dad, well I inherited his often short
temper and lack of knowing when I need to call help. To some people, the traits I’ve just
mentioned may seem like negatives, but I proudly wear each one like a badge of
honour. Because along with the
abovementioned characteristics, my parents are above all kind, compassionate
and the most loyal and hardworking people I know, and they have provided me
with the best life imaginable. They
would do anything for me, which is evidenced by them letting me crash their pad
once more. That’d be tough even if I was
some meek and mild kid that would just do what I’m told at all times. That’s certainly not me. I’m under no illusion that I’ll be easy to
live with after being out on my own.
They have been doing things their way and I have been doing things my
way, and we will inevitably have squabbles over which way is right. But, at the end of the day, we will sit down
together and I will get that warm and fuzzy feeling of knowing I am part of the
best family a girl could hope for.
Anyway, the point of all of this is that
I’m about to embark on the huge, immensely difficult task of saving a huge
amount of money to enter into the biggest and most important purchase of my
life. The issue with that is I suck at
saving. Most things in my life I am able
to achieve if I put my mind to it, but the art of budgeting has always eluded
me. Partly due to the fact that I own a
horse, which seems to cost more than supporting a family of heroine
addicts. Part of it is because I like
nice things. I like to look good and
feel good when I’m going to work. I like
to work out in clothes that make me feel fit.
As selfish as it may seem, I like people to think ‘she’s got her shit
together’ when they see what I wear and how I present myself.
The other thing I like to do is buy things
for others that are way out of my price range.
This might be in the form of one big ticket item (like spending $250 on
a present for a boyfriend who refused to even let his parents know he was
dating me) to feeling the need to buy lots of people coffees or cake or flowers
just because I’m worried they won’t think I’m a good person if I don’t. I get a huge kick out of knowing that
something I’ve done or bought, has brought someone else joy, even if it’s
fleeting. It heals my soul, but it hurts
my hip pocket severely.
I suppose the good thing about what I’ve
just mentioned is that I recognize I’ve got a problem. They say that’s the first step, right? I’m not sure I even know what the next steps
are yet, but I’m excited to find them out.
And I figure if I’m writing this blog for others to see, it’ll help hold
me accountable to my plan to save all my pennies. I’ve made my friends aware that I’m turning
into a tight arse, and that even if I can’t shout them drinks I still love them
and hope they love me. I’ve cut back on
the amount of horse competitions I plan to go to. I’ve given myself a goal of only buying one
‘me’ item every two months (this could be anything from a piece of clothing to
a massage to shouting myself dinner – with a max spend of $70 allowed). All in the name of the ultimate show of
independence. Buying my own house. Owning my own little slice of heaven that
says to the world ‘this girl, she’s got her ducks in a row’. But most of all, by achieving this huge goal,
I’ll be able to say to myself ‘I wanted to do it, so that’s what I did’.
So come with me on this crazy journey - I
promise you it’ll be full of ups and downs, just like a good, whacky book. I promise to be honest about my stuff ups
(I’m sure there will be many) and gloat just the right amount about my
successes. And if you’re lucky, when I
achieve my goal, I might just shout you a coffee – if mum lets me use her
coffee machine and you BYO mug. See, I’m
learning already!
