The looks I encounter when sharing that my family of four resides with my parents are often filled with confusion, skepticism, and occasionally, a hint of horror. After the initial shock wears off, most people respond with a polite “Oh?” accompanied by a smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes. It feels as if I’ve unveiled a hidden truth, thrusting them into an uncomfortable conversation about our living arrangements.
In contemporary America, the typical household is often a nuclear family unit. Growing up as a millennial, I was led to believe that moving out of my parents’ home signified the ultimate step into adulthood. So, how did my husband, our two children, and I end up living with my parents, whom my daughters fondly call Grammy and Grampy?
The journey began with the hefty student loans amassed during college and the less-than-ideal job market for an elementary teacher and a psychology graduate who found her degree largely underutilized. Lacking a stable income, my parents generously offered us a room in their home. Eventually, I secured a job, and my husband began his career while also pursuing his Master’s degree. Shortly after, we learned we were expecting our first child and began searching for an apartment.
However, complications arose during my pregnancy, revealing an autoimmune condition that required the unwavering support of my parents. Our plans to move out were temporarily shelved. In early 2015, our daughter arrived, and we brought her home to my childhood house, where her nursery was set up in my freshly painted old bedroom. I often rocked her to sleep in the same spot where my mother once cradled me.
My parents transitioned into grandparenthood seamlessly, providing invaluable assistance during those early days with a newborn. Having four adults caring for one baby created a supportive environment. My mother truly went above and beyond, helping with late-night feedings and caring for both me and my daughter during those exhausting postpartum weeks.
As time passed, we adjusted to the new dynamics of living together. Although we occasionally considered moving out, it never seemed like the right time. My parents have never pressured us to leave; in fact, they express that they enjoy our arrangement. They shower our daughters (a second girl joined us in 2017) with love and support, and we benefit from their safe, nurturing childcare. This allows my husband some extra time for his side business, and I can squeeze in more running sessions.
Despite occasional moments of doubt when scrolling through social media and seeing posts about first homes, I remind myself that our living situation is not uncommon. Multigenerational households were once the norm and remain so in many cultures. Society has conditioned me to feel embarrassed about this arrangement, but why should I? I once tried to maintain the facade of living in a conventional family setup at work; the effort was exhausting and ultimately futile. In contrast, my parents openly share our living situation with friends and acquaintances, often eliciting responses of envy from their peers who wish for more time with their grandchildren.
Witnessing my children grow up considering it normal to live with their parents and grandparents has reshaped my perspective. What I initially hesitated to discuss with others has become commonplace for my kids. I’ve reached a point where I proudly embrace this lifestyle. My family shares financial responsibilities, household tasks, and childcare duties; our compatibility is almost remarkable.
While I sometimes worry about how my children will handle revealing our living arrangements to their friends, I cling to the knowledge that this setup provides us with countless benefits. We’re not just cohabitating; we’re thriving together.
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In summary, living in a multigenerational household isn’t just a practical choice; it’s a fulfilling lifestyle that fosters connection and support among family members.