I was twenty when I decided to move out of my parent's house, though at that point I hadn't lived there for a while. Since leaving for college, my parents had moved their excessive holiday decor and miscellaneous flipper projects into my old bedroom. The already cramped space felt like a cell but with the additional clutter, it now resembled a spare guest bedroom. It’s an odd feeling to see your cherished childhood belongings: books, photos, and drawings, but feel as though they weren’t yours anymore. My short breaks from school were spent avoiding the space whether it be through working back-to-back shifts or hiding out at friends' places. 

            Covid was the first time in years that I was forced to stay inside. At first, I felt it was fine since there was the naive hope that the curve would be flattened in a few weeks. But two weeks turned into the rest of the semester and my craving for normalcy diminished. News reports were flooded with morbid stories, one that still haunts me was the Fitchburg, MA report of how bodies had to be stored in the old hockey rink - the one my boyfriend and I would go skating in - due to the lack of freezers. We still haven’t gone back, there’s something about enjoying a simple pleasure where the dead were kept that feels disrespectful. 

            Other reports were just as terrifying. Gorge Floyd was murdered as spectators begged the officers sworn to protect to, “let him breathe,” and, “check for a pulse”. My father, a retired detective, watched the footage with a solemn gaze. 

            “This never should have happened,” he’d said. My dad in brutal honesty is xenophobic and racist. He normally rushes to the defense of other officers. However, his feelings of genuine disgust at the actions of the officers involved made the whole situation seem much more dire to me. 

            The compassion he held for George and the Floyd family dissipated as he watched the footage of BLM protests and riots break out. I didn’t and still don’t, understand how he could see something wrong with the actions of the officers and not be able to back the fight - the need - for change. 

            My younger brother has always sought the approval of my father and the explosion of events in 2020 acted as the catalyst for him to do so through political views. My once kind and considerate brother would resort to calling me “libtard” and “snowflake” over conversations of human rights rather than explain his reasoning. My mother, on the other hand, claimed to be a democrat but was also blatantly racist. She’d mock black accents and argue that the n-word should be spoken in absolutes; either everyone could say it or no one can say it.  

            The three of them would say I only think the way I do because college forces you to think that way. In reality, I couldn’t fathom thinking any other way. How could you hold so much hate for people trying to survive? 

            This is all a long way of saying, I no longer felt at home. My room had become unrecognizable and I was seeing my family members for who they were as individuals; both were comparable experiences. The events of 2020, as terrible as they were, lead me to make the best decision for myself: to move out. 

            After months of contemplating, I decided to sign a lease with my partner. This was no easy feat. I knew that there would be backlash from my parents as they didn’t want me to leave. My parents were and still are extremely strict. Each time I want to leave the house I have to say where I’m going, for how long, who would be there, what’s an adult's phone number they could have…I’d joke and say they could call me since this was a routine shake-down they continued to use while I was twenty but then they’d usually get angry and say I couldn’t go. When I originally proposed getting my own place for college they had immediately said that it was out of the question, threatened to cut me off from any financial support, taking me off of all ‘family plans’, but I’d actually proposed moving out with the intention of being completely independent, I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d be on my own. I’d been working forty-hour weeks and had enough saved to last me until my next job. Nevertheless, their immediate anger towards my simple proposition hurt. Their immediate use of financials as a fear tactic was disappointing.  

            My mom joked and said I should make a PowerPoint about why I wanted to move out. I did. I brought up cost efficiency, my quality of education, and other points surrounding my social development. When I presented it to them they angrily ignored me. I continued regardless as my brother egged me on - laughing at all the goofy jokes I’d slipped in between budgeting and planning. Needless to say, they were yet again pissed and shot the idea down immediately. Unbeknownst to them, I’d already signed the lease. 

            I popped the news of my departure two days before leaving. I’d been anxiously rehearsing what to say in my packed-up bedroom for the past week. When I finally mustered the courage to tell my parents I ended up saying, “I signed the lease and it starts in two days”. My mom was livid and my dad shook his head and said,

“Stupid”.

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            At first, I did feel stupid. I’d moved to a deserted college town with no job and half of the summer to find one. I felt young, dumb, and progressing towards becoming broke. After three weeks of job hunting, I decided to apply to be a student bus driver. It seemed like a crazy idea and something I’d hate but it paid well. I trained for months to earn my CDL and after six months on the job, I was promoted to a student supervisor position. My partner's mom took me out to celebrate while my parents gave me minimal congratulations. My dad had actually thought I didn’t receive the proper licensure for driving a bus until I showed him my new license with a small ‘B’ instead of a ‘D’. His apology for doubting me was replaced with the question, “Why did you list your apartment as your permanent address?”. 

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            Both semesters senior year I’ve worked with one of my favorite professors on developing a hearing exam for localizing sound. I earned my human testing CITI certification and run subjects for the research project. He wrote me an amazing letter of recommendation for graduate programs and has only encouraged me to pursue my M.A. in speech and language pathology (even though he tells me I’d make a great Audiologist). My parents encouraged me to choose a different major since they never approved of English and currently struggle to remember that I’ve chosen a second major of Communication Disorders and acquired a certificate in the Medical Humanities. 

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            I spent months applying to graduate programs and was accepted into the 25 seat, Umass SLP program. To call me ecstatic would be an understatement. My friends and professors have all celebrated the achievement with me. My mom told me, “oh, that’s good” when I told her over the phone. In reality, all she cares about is seeing my name on the dean’s list which is posted in the town's local newspaper. For some reason, they usually miss my name and she’ll angrily call me asking if I’d made the list or not. I get a little joy from them forgetting my name most semesters because I just forward my mom the congratulatory email stating that I did in fact make the Dean’s list. My mother just doesn’t get to brag and flaunt it publicly which pisses her off. 

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            Recently, my best friend and I were reminiscing about how far we’ve come. Both of us were accepted to a Umass graduate program for this upcoming fall. Both of us supervisors at the bus garage. Both of us understand how the other has struggled over the past few years. “Life has gotten so much better,” Lisa said.

“So much better,” I agreed. 

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            The common trend here has been that I look to my parents for their approval. I’ve only just recently come to terms with the fact that I won’t get that approval. Whether it be that they're angry with me, disrespect me, or simply do not care - I’m not sure. However, I don’t mind not knowing anymore. I’m proud of myself and I’ve found self-assurance in that. It’s been difficult to achieve all that I have but I’ve done it by myself; if my family doesn’t want to celebrate that with me then so be it. They are my achievements to celebrate. 

            College hasn’t just given me an education to be proud of but it’s also made me realize how to live for myself. Without the opportunity to leave my hometown or a reason to move out during covid, I don’t know that I ever would have. Had I never left I wouldn’t have gotten my job, met my friends, been able to conduct research that I care about. Had I never left I wouldn’t have ever been unapologetically happy.