What just happened? And what now?

Subscriber's newsletter

It has officially been 12 weeks since I left London, stashed the majority of my belongings into storage and moved in with my parents. At age 35, this was not where I ever expected or intended to end up. But despite the obvious drawbacks of living with your parents when you’re a full-blown adult, it actually hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.

When I first decided I would make the move, I was seriously worried about how I would cope especially after living alone for three years but told myself I just had to make it for 12 weeks (I had guessed lockdown would last at least this long because it’s what those who were shielding were told). I only realised when I began to think about what to write for this that it has been 12 weeks. I can’t decide if it felt really long or really short. It all feels like a bit of a blur. Does anyone else feel this way?

One of my favourite writers, Clover Stroud wrote the following in an Instagram caption at the end of May, which really chimed with me:…