An Intro to Wanting to Do It Alone
- Apr 24
- 3 min read
On independence, boundaries, and building a life that feels like your own
By Taylor Barbadora
It became real on a Wednesday in May 2025. Two days earlier, my dad texted our family group chat asking if I was free for dinner. He ended the text by cheerfully saying, “we want to talk about future plans!”
Because that’s exactly what any 23-year-old college graduate, waitressing and living at home, wants to hear. The familiar pit in my stomach returned – I was terrified to say what I actually wanted, afraid of disappointing them. Usually, that fear would’ve been enough to make me ignore what I wanted. This time, it wasn’t.
I planned to tell them I wanted to move from my suburban, Philadelphia hometown to San Diego, CA – by myself.
“Well, that wasn’t what I thought you were going to say,” my dad said with a shocked laugh after gently asking what he thought I might want to do with my life in the next couple of months.
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
I could’ve predicted the next hour-and-a-half in my sleep. My mom responded with cynicism – her anxious, “fixer” brain couldn’t yet wrap around the idea that her oldest daughter wanted to move 2,344 miles away where she couldn’t protect her in the same way. Even worse, I didn’t have a job lined up. My thought was to get a waitressing job once I arrived – an industry she desperately wants me to find my way out of. My dad told me he was sad I’d be so far away, but he was also really happy for me.
There wasn’t much anyone could do to stop me once I had saved up the money to move, so I left the restaurant that night with their support. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of judgement from my mom leaving me anxious and guilty for even bringing it up.
Over the next few months, my parents tried to help me in any way they could. Sometimes it would come in the form of an email from my mom with a list of San Diego job postings titled, “Check these out…” or in the countless connections my dad offered to create for me. They were trying to help, but I still felt a visceral irritation I couldn’t explain.
Knowing they weren’t trying to be overbearing, I turned the frustration inward. But, I was completely ignoring my need to do this on my own so the life I was building would feel like mine.
I needed someone to listen without trying to fix it.
Instead, I kept accepting help that didn’t feel right for months. I’d force a smile at my mom’s emails and nod at my dad’s suggestions just to keep the peace.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told someone what I needed and recognized the necessity of setting boundaries in my life to live as my own unique person.
I started small with someone less daunting than my parents in my eyes: my now ex-boyfriend. He was propped up against his beige pillows on his queen bed, and I was lying on my stomach looking up at him when he reminded me to get a bathmat for San Diego. I rolled my eyes in his face, and he replied,
“You really don’t like when people help you, huh?”
“I’m sorry for rolling my eyes, but what I really need right now is someone to just listen to me about how I’m feeling with everything coming up.”
As my eyes were burning with tears and my nervous system on high alert, he instantly said I was right and asked me what I was feeling. I was flooded with relief. That was a lot easier than I had thought. And, he wasn’t anywhere near mad at me.
Moving to San Diego was one of the first decisions I made purely for myself, so I was fiercely protective of the process – especially as old people-pleasing wounds were triggered. Now, I’m writing this from my apartment, watching the sky turn cotton-candy pink as the sun sets outside my window. I don’t question for a second that I made the right choice.
