I wanted to sit in my pyjamas with nowhere to go and no one to see. I didn’t want to be at someone’s beck and call, needing to be in certain places at certain times. This, however, is precisely what happened because I am my own worst enemy.
I would joke that I would go to the opening of an envelope if I were invited, meaning two things: 1. I love going out, having fun, and seeing people, and 2, I struggle to say no to others I care about. I am constantly at war with my secret inner introvert. I love people, love my friends and family, and try to see them whenever I can (I don’t love all people. In any situation where people behave like cattle, I will prefer to opt-out. I am sure if Dante was alive today, he would have included shopping centres on weekends in one of his circles of hell).
At the beginning of living alone, I would always say yes to pretty much every invitation. Hating the quiet of my house and wanting to be with others. Until it came to the point when I would be leaving my house to go and be with people. Then, all I wanted to do was chill in front of the TV.
I always thought of myself as an independent person who just happened to still live with my parents. How wrong I was. When the weekend rolled around for me to go and do all the things I had said yes to, I realised I left myself no time to look after myself. There was no one else to put a wash on (running out of pants before you have a full wash is very frustrating, a side effect of living solo), do the food shopping, clean the house and do any other maintenance the house or myself needed.
Now, after being a messy teenager and carrying the tradition well into my 20’s, I find myself extremely house proud. My home is pretty much immaculate at all times. I hate things being out of place and have found that by being tidy, I feel happier. This side of me spent the first month of living solo at odds with my naturally extroverted laid-back self.
I started to resent never being at home actually to enjoy living in my house. I was always trying to rush my chores in the evening after work because I hadn’t left myself any time at the weekend to do them with all the social stuff I had lined up. This started to spiral into a bit of a depressive period, as I would be unhappy if my house didn’t look as lovely as I wanted because I had left myself no time to maintain it.