The Love Life Of A Boomerang Kid

The night we broke up I sat in my brother's old bedroom tilting the phone against my shoulder, and to keep my body from shaking I repeatedly traced a thumbtack over the letters that had been carved into his desk: "The Dave Matthews Band." My boyfriend's words echoed through me: "You can't tell me you never slept with that doctor." Capital D, little a, capital V, capital E... "You want things that I can't give you." Capital M, little a, two Ts... "I don't want to lead you on." Capital B, little a... By the time we hung up I had traced every blemish on my brother's old desk. It reminded me that one time, someone else had been frustrated in this very same position, tracing shapes to escape a different sorry state of affairs. Read: 5 Tips to Move On From a Painful Breakup

For the first time since I'd left home ten years ago, Mom creaked up the steps, closed the door, and hugged me while I cried. I had suffered heartbreaks out in the real world, and the scariest thing about picking up the pieces had been the impossible weight of doing it by myself. I'd been out on my own, but now, finally, I wasn't alone. I guess there are moments when personal space is overrated. Read: Love Advice From Mom

Fortunately we've come to firm resolution regarding the privacy of my email. I explained to Mom, "It's not that there's ever anything I need to hide from you—if only my life were that interesting. It's that unlike anything else right now, it's mine." And even though I share a home with my parents again, I'm an adult now, and there are some things—in my life, in my email, in my laundry basket—that exist for me and only me to deal with.

Of course all this isn't to say that I don't need them or want to share my life with them. Family is gold. So when a romance finally does work and my career takes off, they will be the first to know.