Author: Lilly Carrion
Art: Unsplash
At 27, I found myself dragging a suitcase over the welcome mat of my parents’ new home — the same one I visited with my ex only two weeks earlier. But this time, I was moving in, carrying fresh heartbreak and the quiet fear that I was moving backwards.
I kept telling myself it was temporary, just a pit stop until I figured out my next step. But the voice in my head wouldn’t let up. I should be back in the apartment I loved, thriving in my career, and maybe even building a life with a long-term partner. Instead, I was unpacking my clothes into a guest room closet that didn’t feel like mine and wondering if I’d failed at relationships and adulthood.
Ironically, moving in with my parents turned out to be the most responsible choice I could’ve made. When my relationship ended abruptly, I did what most dumpees did: I started taking an inventory of my life. Orlando had been home for almost a decade, and for half that time, I was feeling restless and ready for a new challenge. First, I stayed in Orlando because of COVID. Then, it was because my sister had just moved there. Then, of course, because of him.
My ex gave me something I hadn’t realized I was craving: a plan. For years, I’d worked toward one goal after another — the right grades, the right internships, the dream job in PR. At 24, I achieved it all faster than expected. And then, I was left wondering, ‘What now?’ The last task I needed to cross off was finding my long-term partner. But, unlike getting a degree or landing your dream job, which are pretty much guaranteed with a little hard work, the dating gods didn’t care how much “work” you’d put in. It either happened or it didn’t.
So the first five years of my twenties were spent blissfully single. I focused on building my career, surrounded myself with deep female friendships, and simply enjoyed my own company. When I met my ex at 25, I thought, Okay, this has to be it. Once again, I’ve done all the right things. I’ve dated around, I’ve built a life with friendships I was proud of, and I’ve become someone I would be excited to date. Meeting him gave me a clear roadmap again: I’d stay in Orlando until he finished his PhD, then we’d move wherever his career took us. I didn’t have to choose for myself.
When the breakup hit, I lost more than a partner. I lost the future I had been borrowing. Once again, I was right back where I started– single and too scared to decide what came next. Paying thousands of dollars in rent didn’t make sense anymore. So I packed up and moved in with my parents, who had recently settled in the sleepy beach town of Stuart, Florida.
At first, I felt embarrassed. But what started off as a financial move ended up being the heartbreak bootcamp I didn’t know I needed. My early days there were a blur of shopping trips with my mom, forcing my parents to watch Love Island (they were horrified), boat rides on weekends, and home-cooked meals from my childhood. I started working out five times a week, walking two miles daily, reading more than ever, and going to bed earlier.
I contemplated getting a master’s (as every twenty-something does at least once in their life) and came to terms with all the little ways I betrayed myself in my last relationship. I had spent the last year and a half slowly losing myself, working so hard to keep a relationship that simply wasn’t the right fit.
The one thing I couldn’t quite put my finger on was “why?” Why had I given up so much of myself for a relationship that was clearly not working? I was happily single for five years, and yet, a couple of months into this relationship, it’s like I completely forgot how much happier I was by myself.
I’m the kind of person who makes the plan, works hard, and checks the box. Career milestones, financial goals, and even personal growth. But, as I inch closer to 30, the one area I’ve never been able to control is the one I want the most: building a family. When I turned 27, still tangled in a toxic relationship, it hit me like a punch. Through living at home and taking the much-needed time to reflect, I realized that no matter how much effort I poured into keeping us together, I was no closer to marriage or children than if I were single. For someone who has built her life on achievement, that realization was terrifying.
What surprised me, though, was how quickly that fear gave way to something else. By stepping back from my relationship and the timeline I thought I needed to follow, I learned that rebuilding isn’t a failure at all. Instead, it’s progress.
I arrived at my parents’ doorstep with heartbreak and the fear that I was regressing. But it ended up being the reset button I didn’t know I needed, giving me the space to slow down, reconnect with my family, save money, and start dreaming for myself again. And maybe the lesson of 27 is learning that love and family aren’t achievements to rush myself to. They unfold on their own time.
I may not have the partnership I pictured by now, but I’m no longer wasting energy on the wrong plan. Instead, I’m finally creating space for the right one to find me, and that feels like growth. And honestly? Fuck the patriarchy for making us feel like failures just because we’re not mothers or wives by 30.
About the Author:
Lilly Carrion is a PR professional and freelance writer based in Florida. She explores themes of womanhood, relationships, and the messy beauty of starting over in your 20s.