Moving out of my parents' house at 32

This is a composite story, drawn from common experiences shared in the schizophrenia community. It does not depict a real individual.

I am a 32-year-old man living in a small one-bedroom apartment in Sacramento. The apartment is six miles from my parents' house, in a building with a courtyard and a coin laundry on the ground floor. I moved in four months ago. Before that, I had lived with my parents continuously since the day they brought me home from my first psychiatric hospitalization at the age of 20.

How I ended up still living at home at 30

My first episode came during my second year of college. I went home for spring break and never went back. My parents picked me up from the emergency room two weeks later and the diagnosis came a few months after that. The plan was always that I would get back on my feet and move out. The plan kept getting pushed.

For a long time the pushing made sense. I had three more hospitalizations between 22 and 26. I did not have steady work. My medication kept changing. I tried community college twice and dropped out both times. My parents worked, paid the mortgage, made me dinner, and quietly kept track of whether I was taking my pills. They were not pressuring me to leave. They were also not building me a runway out.

Somewhere around 28, after I had been stable for two years on a long-acting injection of paliperidone, I started to feel something that was not quite restlessness and not quite grief. It was the feeling of a life that had narrowed to fit a small room. I would lie in bed and listen to my parents move around the house and feel like a guest in my own future.

What it took to start the conversation

I told my therapist first. She had been my therapist for four years and knew the family system well. She asked me what I was afraid of. I made a list:

• Relapsing without anyone noticing in time.
• Forgetting to eat for days.
• Making a financial mistake that ruined me.
• Hurting my parents' feelings.
• Failing publicly and having to come back.

She did not tell me the fears were wrong. She helped me design around each one. The plan that came out of those sessions over about a year became the plan I actually used.

The runway, in concrete steps

1. I got a job I could keep. Through a supported employment program connected to my county mental health center, I got a part-time position at a hardware store, twenty hours a week. I held it for fourteen months before I started looking for an apartment. The IPS supported employment model — see the SAMHSA IPS toolkit — was built for exactly this kind of slow, durable employment.
2. I rebuilt my credit. My parents added me as an authorized user on one of their credit cards for two years. I made one small purchase a month and paid it off. By the time I applied for an apartment, my score was high enough that I did not need a co-signer.
3. I saved. I lived rent-free, so I saved aggressively — first month, last month, deposit, plus a six-month emergency fund. The number I picked was not extravagant; it was what I needed to survive a relapse without losing the apartment.
4. I cooked at home for a year. My mother stopped making my dinner. I made my own. Some nights it was rice and frozen vegetables. The point was to prove to myself that I could feed myself reliably.
5. I scheduled all my medical appointments myself. For ten years my mother had been the one calling the psychiatrist's office. I took it back. It felt absurdly hard at first. By the third call it was just a phone call.

The conversation with my parents

I told them at dinner one Sunday in February. I had practiced what I would say with my therapist. The words I used were: "I want to start looking for an apartment. I am not running away. I am ready to try. I want your help making this work, not your permission."

My mother cried. My father said, "Are you sure?" three times. Then we ate dinner. The next morning my mother left a printed list of apartment search websites on my desk. That was her way of saying yes.

The first month alone

The first night in the apartment I slept on the floor because the bed had not been delivered yet. I woke at 3 a.m. and could not remember where I was. For about ten minutes I lay there cataloguing whether I was psychotic or just disoriented. I was just disoriented. I made tea. I sat by the window. I went back to sleep.

The first month was harder than I expected. Things I had not anticipated:

• How loud silence is when you are used to a household.
• How many small decisions a day there are when no one else is making them.
• How easy it is to skip meals when no one is calling you to the table.
• How important it is to have a reason to leave the apartment every day.

I built guardrails fast. I set three phone alarms — morning medication, lunch, evening medication. I went to my parents' house every Sunday for dinner. I joined a gym down the block, mostly so I would have a reason to walk outside daily. I added one weekly call with my sister.

What is working at four months

My voices have stayed quiet. I have not missed a dose. My case manager from the county team checks in every two weeks. My psychiatrist still sees me monthly. My job is the same. My parents call too often, which I have learned to find affectionate rather than smothering.

The apartment is not perfectly clean. I lost ten pounds the first six weeks because I forgot to eat enough; I have gained most of it back since I started cooking on Sundays for the week. I have spent two evenings sitting on the couch wondering what I would do if I had a wobble. I have a written plan for that, posted on my fridge — call my sister, call my psychiatrist, call my parents, in that order. The fact that the plan exists makes the fear smaller.

What I would say to someone still at home

• There is no shame in living with family. There is also no shame in being ready to leave.
• The runway matters more than the move. Build it carefully and the move is just the next step.
• Treat your parents as collaborators, not obstacles. They have been carrying you for a long time and they have feelings about the move.
• Pick housing close enough that a Sunday dinner is easy.
• Tell your treatment team early. They have helped many people make this transition and they will help you.

For more, see living alone for the first time and supported housing for people with schizophrenia. The NAMI family resources are also useful for parents adjusting to the change.

This article is for educational purposes only and is not medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult a qualified mental health professional. If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 in the US, or your local emergency number.