Growing up with limited money, I always viewed college as a safety net, an investment that would set me up for immediate success. I started saving for tuition in high school, worked full-time in college to avoid student loans, earned straight A’s, and did all I could think of to guarantee financial success.
I felt financially secure for a short time, but everything changed when I graduated. The stability I once felt walking around my safe college town vanished almost overnight, and I was completely unprepared.
Since graduating over six years ago, I’ve moved 10 times while navigating rent increases, job changes, and the financial realities of being a young adult.
I thought life after college would be stable, but I was wrong
It took 10 months to find a job after graduating. When I finally did, I moved out of my childhood bedroom only to live temporarily with friends, and then back with my parents, recovering from the embarrassment of not being able to afford housing on my entry-level salary.
After a few months and a decent raise, I tried again. I moved into an apartment with my boyfriend (now husband) and got a dog. Since then, we’ve lived in four different apartments, moving back in with family between each one.
I’ve changed addresses so many times that my GPS has given up on me. Rising rent, post-pandemic inflation, pay cuts, unexpected debt, and even a lost tax payment forced us back home multiple times. We were fortunate to have family to fall back on, but the repeated setbacks never felt easy.
Over six years later, I’m still not “settled” in the way I imagined. Each move taught me to handle setbacks with a little more confidence, yet, as someone who was so used to being prepared, I still felt like I was losing my sense of self.
I began to understand the emotional toll of feeling like a failure
I’ve spent my whole life measuring my self-worth in numbers — my SAT score, GPA, and items on my résumé. I planned my entire future in spreadsheets, bit my nails until they bled, and spent nights before big tests throwing up, even after weeks of studying.
That was me: an anxious, overachieving mess who crumbled at the thought of even a small failure.
Postgrad life quickly humbled me, teaching me that no amount of spreadsheets or A’s could protect me from the real world.
Every time I moved into a new apartment, I told myself, “This is it. I’ll save up, and the next move will be into a house of my own.” But it still hasn’t worked out that way. I’ve been forced to decide: Do I let that feeling drag me down, or accept that instability is a part of life and choose to enjoy the journey?
I had to find a ‘home’ within myself.
In my 20s, I’ve learned that life rarely unfolds the way we imagine, no matter how meticulously we plan. When I crossed the stage in cap and gown six years ago, I pictured a steady job, a white picket fence, and a stress-free existence waiting for me on the other side. I thought fulfillment would come from checking the right boxes in the right order, as I had always done.
Instead, I’ve never felt more fulfilled than I do now that I’ve thrown out the checklist altogether and stopped viewing life like a syllabus.
Over time, the weight of starting over lightened, and I learned to feel at home within myself, even as my physical space kept changing. Rather than feeling sorry for myself, I sought opportunity in each new set of blank walls, finding comfort and purpose from within.
My life hasn’t followed the simple, straightforward path I once expected, and I’ve come to believe that is for a reason. As someone with a Type A personality who was once consumed by anxiety over the smallest things, more rules and timelines weren’t what I needed. I needed freedom from my own expectations, and in my case, that meant getting knocked down enough times to finally loosen my grip on perfection.
No matter how many times I have to move or start over, I know I’ll be OK. I’m no longer chasing a timeline or striving for a perfect grade in life. I’m building a life that feels like mine, and letting its ups and downs shape me for the better.
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