I was embarrassed to move back in with my parents at 53. But they love having me around, and I’m finally pursuing my dream career.

It’s nice to be able to spend more time with my family.

2023 was a hard year for me. My second marriage was unraveling, and I was in the midst of a mental-health crisis.

After being a pastor’s wife for 23 years and taking an early retirement from teaching to join him full-time in ministry, I wasn’t sure where I was going or who I was anymore.

To make matters worse, I was living in Mississippi, which was about a five-hour trip to my family in Louisiana.

But on a trip back home amid my impending divorce, my sister posed the idea of moving back in with my parents in Louisiana. After all, they were aging, and my sister had been shouldering the burden of caring for both them and her children for nearly two decades.

The offer to move home was tempting, but I felt like I’d be slinking back to town with my middle-aged tail tucked between my legs. I was publicly processing my pain and couldn’t give people more to talk about by “moving in with mommy.”

I knew I was successful — I have a master’s degree and plenty of community-leadership accolades. However, I’d already gotten tongues wagging by tossing in my prim-and-proper status as a pastor’s wife.

But after years of focusing on others, I knew it was time to turn my attention toward myself.

I was reluctant at first, but I decided it was time to follow my sister’s advice

Although my sister was overwhelmed by having to care for our parents over the years, I was actually jealous of the time she had with them.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized moving back home could give me the opportunity to reconnect with my family in person, while also focusing on my own future.

During this time, I remembered an article I’d read a few years back, which encouraged readers facing mid-life turmoil to revisit the dreams they’d had at age 10.

My dream had been to work full-time as a writer. However, life got in the way, and writing became a part-time hobby instead of a career.

I called my parents and asked if I could live with them temporarily while I pursued a writing career, and they graciously agreed. Just as they had in my childhood, they believed they were investing in my future.

It was a roller coaster at first, but the safety of moving back home was healing.

In some ways, moving home was great. I got to participate in the game nights I’d missed out on while I was away, and heart-to-hearts with my dad were now in person instead of over the phone.

But I was also working through some past trauma while often reverting to my rebellious teenage self. I was moody and emotionally unstable at times and sometimes struggled with guilt over putting my own wants and needs first.

However, being in the safety of my parents’ home was healing. I jokingly referred to their dog as my little sister and not-so-jokingly relied on her as an emotional-support pet.

I reclaimed a friendship with my former husband, took on the responsibility of caring for my parents, and learned how to help my mom without taking over her home.

I found some jobs writing for local newspapers and magazines, many of which were uncompensated. In the last nine months, I’ve had over 300 articles published locally and spent an average of 70 hours a week writing — which never would’ve been possible with a second full-time job and rent to pay.

While my parents are undoubtedly my biggest supporters, I realize I’ve become invaluable to them as well. I once joked with my mom that I had to act better than I did as a teenager since, this time, she could actually kick me out.

“Now, why would I do that? What would I do without you here?” she said.

My mouth dropped open, and tears filled my eyes. It was the nicest thing she could’ve ever said to me.