Thoughts on moving out.

I'm moving out of my parents' house in a little over a month. I have a lot of feelings.

Sometimes it felt like this day would never come. Between Erik switching jobs and my inability to get my act together, the idea of apartment hunting and moving out felt more like a daydream than reality. We were never going to have enough money, I figured, so I resigned myself to being one of those people who still lives at home in her late twenties. (And I tried to be okay with it, which I was, most days.)

The reality still hasn't settled in; it still feels so far away. Any relief I felt in choosing an apartment, any happiness in finding out we were approved, has since been washed away with stress. I always need to be busy or working on something, so since finding out last week that we'd be moving in April, I've been constructing to-do lists, measuring furniture, contemplating what we definitely do or don't need, and slowly packing up my room.

I worry I'm not ready for all of the change I'm signing up for. It's great to fantasize about seeing Erik every day and falling asleep next to him every night, or to leave my parents and not be subconsciously stressed out by them. But I have yet to truly experience real, adult life, and I'm terrified. Despite my general responsible nature and tendency to over-plan everything, I am worried that we will move in together, fail at budgeting, end up eating take-out every night because we won't learn to cook, and go broke.

My confidence in my abilities is confined to this "fake" adult life that I live with my parents. Sure, I pay my credit card bills on time as well as my monthly rent to my parents. I cook for myself occasionally and at least know I am capable of making chicken, pasta, and vegetables, at the very least. Expanding these skills into an independent life with just me and Erik somehow makes me feel completely incompetent.

Of course, stressing about all of these unknowns does me no good. I won't know how we will handle it until it's happening, and if I'm really honest with myself, I know it'll be okay and that we cannot possibly fail that spectacularly. I have to continue to focus on the exciting parts, which will be the most rewarding. Like, I'm pretty sure I'm going to cry tears of joy when we spend our first night in the apartment because I will be so blissfully happy with my new reality.

Change has never been my strong point; I avoid it at all costs, which is not healthy by any means. I need to remember that sometimes, I just need to take a breath and let it all go, jump in feet-first, and let things be what they will be.