“People just want to be seen, heard, and understood.” Giyen said this in response to some Big Question we were discussing. Was it about parenting? Friendship? Writing? It doesn’t really matter. She stated a universal truth, and it’s ringing in my mind as I get ready for my adult kids to move back home.
Context: my 22 year-old daughter has just graduated from college and needs a cheap, reliable base from which to plot her next moves. My 25 year-old son is landing in Portland after several post-college years in the Midwest, and our house is the logical place to touch down. It so happens they’re arriving around the same time. My kids’ return to their old bedrooms is neither surprising nor problematic, it’s just the necessary next step for each of them. Neither considers this the ideal living situation, but after holding their plans up to the financial realities, they’re adjusting accordingly. And they’re deeply welcome. This will require serious adjustment, to say the least, but it helps to know (as much as we know anything) it’s temporary. I’m relieved Rael and I still have room for them. We’ve been talking about reducing our residential footprint for years. The gargantuan task of clearing out my Mom’s house only supercharged our desire to downsize. But the dark chaos of the Trump administration swamped those plans (I use the word swamp intentionally). This wasn’t the time to uproot ourselves and roll the financial dice. I’m glad we stayed put and have the physical space for our two former-children to move back in. But what about the mental space? It’s not like we’re just picking back up with older versions of the kids who moved out years ago. To state the obvious: Sam and Mirabai are different people now. They’ve developed their own ways of living, eating, relaxing, and socializing. We’ve gotten hints over the years, but sharing the same house again will come with a whole new level of exposure. We’re thrilled to have them with us and at the same time we’re buckling up for some rough riding through the transition. Rael and I have changed, too. We’re pretty attached to the privacy and crumb-free countertops of empty nest living. But it goes deeper than lifestyle details: we’ve also grown beyond our previous roles. Our kids are no longer the default center point. We’ll always be their parents, of course, but our interests (both shared and individual) have had time to ripen. We’ve embraced and leaned into our differences. We live and eat differently now. I suspect we give off different (and, dare I say, better) vibes as a couple than we did as the “Mom and Dad” they knew before they left. There’s no going back, and that’s a good thing. This is a chance to get to know each other again, and to move into the next phase of our lives together as adults. I’m grabbing this opportunity with both hands by practicing what I’m calling radical welcome. Radical welcome operates on the idea that the most powerful way to show your love is to pay attention. This can look like:
Radical welcome also involves letting my kids see, hear and understand me. Empty nesting gave me enough distance to look back on my unconscious tendency toward “mom martyrdom” when the kids were younger. I would take my needs off the table (often without anyone asking or even knowing) as a way to avoid tension or conflict. This didn’t serve anyone; it just created the conditions for snowballing resentment and misunderstanding. What’s more, I unwittingly took away my family’s opportunity to show up for me. Radical welcome assumes my kids’ adulthood — and my own.
Nothing will eliminate the friction that’s bound to come up as we adjust to living together again. No matter how enlightened this all sounds, we’re still their parents, and pushing against us is part of the deal. Things will be messy for a while. Old stuff from childhood will jump out of closets and unresolved issues will bubble up through the floorboards, and I’ll probably lose my cool on a regular basis. But I’ll just try again. That’s life as a family. Whatever happens, I want to get across — through my words, tone, and actions — that I treasure our new adulthood together. We’re sharing the same square footage, but there’s more space around each of us to be individuals. I want my kids to know they can count on our family’s love and familiarity without having to revert to previous versions of themselves. And I want them to see by our example that adulthood isn’t a fixed point: we keep growing up for the rest of our lives.
💬 Meet me in the comments. How does the notion of radical welcome land with you? Any advice/questions/stories/tips/links about adult kids moving home?
🗄️ FROM THE ARCHIVES
👆🏽 My live video conversation with author Meagan Francis. In her book The Last Parenting Book You’ll Ever Read, she writes beautifully and candidly about the out-and-back-and-out-again journey many of our adult kids take (or will take).
📝 NOTES OF NOTE
Thanks for reading Parent of Adults, my invitation to compare notes on life beyond the empty nest. I’m Asha Dornfest, a Portland, Oregon-based author & parent of two young adults. ➡️ Learn more about Parent of Adults or subscribe now for free.
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Thursday, July 31, 2025
Radical welcome
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