Cindy Babyn - Moving Out!: A Young Adults Guide to Living on Your Own

Letter to the Reader

Dear Reader:

Most people would probably agree that the age a person moves out of his or her family home for the first time is totally dependent on a wide variety of factors, such as level of personal maturity, financial status, and the degree of the persons desire to be brave enough to move out on his/her own. Sometimes heading off to university or college is a pretty clear marker for many young adults.

In my case, I moved out when I was young likely younger than most. I was seventeen and I was unhappy. I tried to pretend that everything was okay and I tried to keep quiet about my feelings. All I knew was that living at home was not working out for me and I was tired of the stress. I was praying for the day I could move out. Thankfully I had a lot of really good friends who helped keep my spirits high through those days. They gave me a third-party perspective on what I was going through and they gave me a lot of emotional support.

After school one day, I found myself with some friends in a caf on Yonge Street in Toronto, having coffee and croissants. One of my friends told me that she was going to ask her mom and dad if I could move in with them, since her older sister had just moved out. When my friend said those words, the idea of it became a possibility and it started to feel real. It seemed like it could actually happen. Although I was relieved and excited by the idea, I was kind of afraid. I was afraid of the moment when I would tell my foster mom that I was going to move out.

My friend spoke to her parents, and to my surprise they actually agreed to talk with me about allowing me to live there. So we arranged a meeting. Although I had seen her parents on the street from time to time, I didnt actually know them. When I got to my friends house, we all sat in their living room and talked about what I was going through at home. Her parents offered to take me in for a trial period and thought that we should have family meetings about once a month to see how it was all going and to gauge whether any adjustments were necessary. Our agreement was that I would pay them a small amount each month to support my food costs. I also had to agree to follow the house rules, mostly concerning curfew, and that I had to help out with house chores. I agreed to those things without any hesitation.

So I went home and I told my foster mom that I was going to move out. I got permission from the Childrens Aid Society to leave before I was eighteen, the age until which by law I was supposed to remain in care.

I moved in with my friend and her family. I had a room on the top floor. Oddly enough, it had a little sink, which was handy for washing my hair. I ate meals with my friend and her family and had many amazing conversations with them. The best way I can say it is that they felt like my people. They were well-educated. They were artistically inclined. They were fairly liberal in thought and free-spirited. They were politically engaged. They shared their thoughts and feelings and ideas with each other. They laughed. They supported each other and they totally welcomed me in. I learned, in the presence of these adults and my friend, how to relax and be myself at home, although it took me a long time to open up and trust that it was okay to do so. For me, this was a great gift. It was an amazing experience to enjoy being at home with people.

About a year and a half later, the day came when I was going to start first-year university. I was nineteen. I decided it was going to be a lot easier to live downtown. I found a place advertised on a sign at the faculty where I was going to study. I rented a partially furnished room on the third floor of a house in a neighbourhood with a good vibe. It was within walking distance of the university. There was no lease I just paid month-to-month. The room had a single bed and a desk with a chair. It had a tiny balcony that overlooked a mature, tree-lined street. It was a beautiful view. I brought a bookcase, my books, and my clothes. I had a lock on my door and I shared a kitchen on the second floor with the other tenant, who ended up being my very good friend. I brought some of my own kitchenware, including a German-made espresso-maker, which, amazingly, still works today! My friend and I were a good pair and we didnt have any problems sharing the kitchen. We often cooked and ate together when our schedules matched. After this first year of university was over, I went off to study in Rotterdam, Holland, where I ended up moving four times in two years. Do you see a pattern emerging here? I move a lot!