When I finished uni, I didn’t move into a cool flat with my mates or start some exciting new chapter in a city I barely knew. I moved back home. Into my old bedroom. Complete with the same glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and a creaky wardrobe full of stuff I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing anymore.
At the time, it felt like I was pressing pause while everyone else hit fast-forward. But now, over a year later, I’ve realised it wasn’t the backward step I thought it’d be.
In fact, in a lot of ways, it was one of the smartest decisions I could have made.
The Move Home: Awkward, Familiar, and Kind of Necessary
Let’s be honest—nobody dreams of moving back in with their parents after graduation. There’s this unspoken pressure to prove you’re “doing adulthood right”: get a job, get a flat, get on with it. But with student debt, rising rent, and job markets that look more like obstacle courses than career paths, that isn’t always realistic.
For me, staying in my student city wasn’t an option. My course had finished, my tenancy was up, and I hadn’t landed a full-time job yet. So, suitcase in hand, I hopped on the train back to my hometown.
At first, it was a culture shock. No more midnight toasties with flatmates or rolling into lectures five minutes late because you lived round the corner. Now I was waking up to the sound of my dad hoovering at 7am and fielding daily questions about what I was doing with my life. (Helpful.)
But the thing is, once I got past the dent to my ego, I started to notice the real benefits.
Breathing Room – Financially and Mentally
The most obvious win? Money. Rent-free (or at least heavily discounted) living gave me space to figure things out without the constant pressure of affording rent, bills, and food on a part-time income.
That breathing room meant I could take on an internship that paid peanuts but helped me get a foot in the door. I had time to tweak my CV properly, apply for grad schemes I actually wanted, and do freelance bits on the side. If I’d been juggling all that with full rent and utilities, there’s no way I’d have managed.
Mentally, too, it gave me a reset. Final year had burned me out. I was tired, anxious, and honestly just needed some familiarity. Being home let me recalibrate without the noise of everything else. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounding.
Meanwhile, in the Land of Shared Rented Accommodation…
At the same time, my old housemate from third year, Jamie, moved into a rented flat with two people from his course. I remember visiting a couple of months in. They had fairy lights, a shared Spotify account, and a fridge that looked like it had survived the apocalypse.
He was living the post-uni dream—or at least trying to. But when we got talking properly, it turned out things weren’t quite as ideal as they looked on Instagram.
The rent was eating most of his salary, and with bills and council tax on top, he was having to pick up extra shifts at a bar just to cover basics. He liked the independence, sure, but it came with stress—late rent reminders, noisy neighbours, flatmate fallouts over cleaning rotas (some things never change).
But here’s the thing: he was also growing up fast. Learning how to manage his own space, cook proper meals (eventually), and deal with landlords and dodgy plumbing. There was a freedom and confidence to his setup that I didn’t have, at least not right away.
The Trade-Offs are Real – But They Don’t Make you a Failure
I’m not going to pretend living at home didn’t come with downsides. Sharing a bathroom with your parents at 23 is humbling, to say the least. And there were definitely moments I envied Jamie’s freedom—the ability to have friends over without awkward “just be quiet after ten” chats or explaining why someone was sleeping on the sofa.
But I also didn’t envy the financial strain, or the pressure to have everything figured out straight away. Living at home gave me time to build stability. When I eventually moved out (into a houseshare of my own, not far from my first proper job), I was ready. Not just financially, but in myself.
And Jamie? He’s still in the same flat—more settled now, but still figuring things out like the rest of us. We took different routes, but neither was “right” or “wrong.”
What I Learned
If you’re weighing up whether to move home after uni or strike out on your own, here’s the honest version: both have pros and cons.
Moving home gives you:
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Time to save – whether for a deposit, a holiday, or just a cushion.
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Headspace – especially if you’re job hunting or dealing with burnout.
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Support – emotional and logistical, even if it comes with unsolicited life advice.
But it also means:
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Less independence – curfews might be gone, but compromise isn’t.
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Regression risk – it’s easy to fall back into teenage habits or roles.
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Awkward dynamics – privacy, social life, even just being an adult can feel tricky.
Going it alone gives you:
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Independence – running your own space, your own life.
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A quicker route into adulting – from council tax to cooking.
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A clearer social life – especially if friends are still nearby.
But it might also mean:
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Financial pressure – particularly on entry-level wages.
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More stress, less flexibility – everything rests on you now.
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Loneliness – if your social circle scatters post-uni.
Moving Home Doesn’t Mean Moving Backwards
If you’re like me, you might worry that going home means you’ve failed in some way. That you’ve lost your independence or stalled your progress.
But here’s what I learned: It’s not about where you live—it’s about what you do with the time you’re given.
I used that year at home to get my footing, figure things out, and set myself up properly. And when I left, it felt like a step forward—because I wasn’t just moving out. I was moving on.
So don’t let pride make the decision for you. Be honest about your finances, your mental health, and your goals. Whether you choose the box room or the rented flat, there’s no shame in either.
Just don’t forget to take the glow-in-the-dark stars down eventually. You’re not 15 anymore.
