Moving into a new place is scary. I am not completely sure I can do it yet. “But I’m not an adult yet!” I protest. “I’m just a kid! I’m expected to know so much about living on my own and being independent!”

There’s an itch deep inside me that says I need this. That I need to expose myself to living in the real world right now, that I need to get a job and do something with my life. I know I cannot rely on my parents forever, and although I love them very much, I need to force myself into self-reliant adulthood.

So I find a job. I get an apartment. Slowly, I settle in and unpack. I hang out with my roommates. I am not here as a visitor-- I am a resident now. I go grocery shopping. I pick what I want to watch in the evenings. I balance my own checkbook. I set my own bedtime, I pay my own rent. I learn the things I have to do to thrive because I want to do more than survive.

I look around at the plain white walls of my apartment and I know that this is temporary like swimming in the shallow end of the public pool was temporary. I see my clothes hanging in the closet, my earrings on the dresser, and my books lined up on the shelf. This is a place where I teach myself how to succeed. If that means some nights I eye my bank account and realize I’m going to be eating beans for three days, so be it. If that means that I learn what “living within my means” is, even better.

I learn to take pride in the appearance of my home. I vacuum like I’ve never vacuumed before. I dust and wash and scrub and am currently avoiding cleaning the bathroom until we have company.

Grocery shopping is different now. I used to ask myself, “Do I want this?” and now I ask myself, “Do we need this?” I compare prices and buy store brand—I learn that it’s just as good. I calculate how long I can make meals stretch so that I go to bed with a full stomach. I check online for sales and coupons and plan meals based on that. I learn that bacon is expensive, but ground beef is often on sale. I cook almost every night because it's less expensive than going out to eat. I celebrate the simple art of the crock-pot meal. I find that name-brand paper towels and toilet paper are higher quality, but that I can buy store-brand canned food and boxed food without consequence. I balance my checkbook. I make my money last.

There are times when I cry. When I call four different doctors in the area, and none of them has an appointment available for the next two weeks and I need to see someone about an injury now, I sob into my pillow and email my dad. I call my mom and talk for an hour. I step up and take care of myself. I learn that urgent cares are the next best thing. I make my own appointments, and I figure out that I needed to compare and contrast doctors and surgeons and specialists. I teach myself to speak confidently even when I'm scared.

Moving into a new place is scary. Being a real adult is scary (and maybe I’m not completely a real adult yet—but that’s okay). Sometimes I am lonely, and uncertain, and afraid. Often I worry, but it passes quickly. However, this transition is one that I know I must make, something that I know I can do and something that will eventually make me better. I’m not completely sure I can do it yet, but so far, I’ve done more than just survive, I’ve made a home for myself.