More than ten years ago, I was twenty-three and finally moved out of my parents’ house in Ohio into a small apartment in Columbus. The day I moved in, I was full of pride. Finally, freedom.
The freedom lasted barely two days.
On the third night, the washing machine just stopped. A full tub of water and soap bubbles, and it wouldn’t drain. I crouched in front of the machine and pressed every button. Nothing happened. I had to call the landlord. He sent a repairman, and it took three days. For three days, I hung wet clothes on the shower curtain rod, and water dripped everywhere.
The second week, the fridge started making a weird humming noise. Then one night it went silent. Completely silent. The kind of silence that makes you nervous. I opened the door. The light was on, but nothing inside was cold anymore. The milk was warm. I stood in the kitchen staring at that fridge, then silently poured half a carton of milk down the sink.
But the hardest part wasn’t the appliances. It was dinner.
At first I cooked with enthusiasm. Then I realized eating alone is just not fun. Chop, stir-fry, serve, eat, wash dishes. An hour of work for ten minutes of eating. And there was no one to talk to. I tried turning on the TV for background noise. But that felt even lonelier. One time I made pasta, took a few bites, threw the rest away, and just sat on the couch staring at the wall.
Slowly, I figured things out. I learned how to text the landlord without being annoying. Learned to cook three or four meals on Sunday and freeze them. Learned that when the washing machine stops, check if a sock is blocking the drain hose first. Learned to watch one episode of a show while eating alone, and not feel pathetic about it.
I lost about fifteen pounds that year. But I also learned something: independence isn’t about becoming strong all at once. It’s about learning to patch up your own life, one small mess at a time.
The second year, I bought a small slow cooker. Sunday pot of stew, lasted for days. After eating, I’d sit by the window, look at the trees across the street, and think: this isn’t so bad.
