Daughter: After five years on my own, I had to return home. Ugh! I was used to doing things the way I want and when I want. But with no job and no money, I had no choice. It wouldn’t be so bad, I thought. My parents, especially my mom, knew I was now an adult, and they would treat me as one. And I was close to my mom. This would be fun!

Mother: It didn’t take long—less than a month—to discover that having Emily at home was going to be a challenge. She didn’t have a job so she stayed out to all hours of the night—make that early morning! She slept in until the afternoon. Then she would spend the rest of the day—until it was time to go out with friends—sending out resumes; searching the want ads; networking. Meanwhile, her many boxes, with all the stuff she brought home, continued to fill the living room, the family room, and every space available in her bedroom.

Daughter: I didn’t realize what a grouch my mother was. It didn’t take long to realize that moving home wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. She was always complaining about my hours, my sleeping in late, and my boxes. Give me a break! I am looking for a job, I reminded her. And why should I get up early? There was nothing to get up for!

Mother: I have to admit that I yelled at Emily often, so often that my husband told me to “Take it easy!” Then I got mad at him. The joy that I had expected with her return home was fast evaporating.

Daughter: Things had to change. Life was becoming miserable. I was becoming depressed. All my friends had jobs. I had only a part-time gig that not only didn’t pay well, but was the same one I'd had in high school. I felt like a failure. My only escape from this feeling was sleep.

Mother: By the end of the second month, the boxes were gone…finally! But I still yelled at Emily. She messed up the kitchen; her cosmetics took over the counter in the bathroom; her room was a fright. My once-peaceful and organized home was becoming a battlefield.

Daughter: Something had to give. I couldn’t continue to live like this. No matter what I did, I seemed to be in the wrong. In an effort to reach some sort of agreement with my mom, I wrote her a note and put it on her pillow. It said: “I love you. How about a truce?”

Mother: I read the note and realized that my daughter really did learn something in college. After I went and hugged her, we had a meeting and included dad. Based on respect for each other, we came to a compromise. Each of us agreed to talk about things as they arose and to work them out. I would not yell; she would not sleep all day. She tries hard. I try harder. Peace—most of the time—has returned to our home and with it, there is lots of joy!

Daughter: Not everything is perfect, but I can say I’m enjoying living at home. And, hurray!, I have a job. Having a list of rules and responsibilities is the best way to go when an adult child moves home. Luckily, we, my parents and I, didn’t learn this too late. If we hadn’t had the meeting and reached a compromise, I don’t think I would be able to say that my relationship with my parents and my friendship with my mother is great!