Why millennials who still live with their parents are frustrated all the time

I remember being genuinely excited about weekends back in school and college. My parents worked on weekends sometimes, so that often meant a relaxing day at home with my favourite movies or shows, some good food, and actual quiet time. And as an adult (with a taxing job), I still crave those slow, quiet weekends. But as an adult living with her parents, that peace and quiet is aspirational at best.

Indian parents have a knack for making their presence felt the second you’re home. They’ll check in every five minutes, walk into your room just to share some random gossip, or just bitch about a family member because they need to vent. And while it's nice to be checked in on and to be the person they come to, after a point, it just starts to feel exhausting. You end up becoming the emotional sponge, and suddenly, every choice you make revolves around how little it will inconvenience them.

That's probably why the idea of moving across the world for my postgrad was such a liberating thought. The degree was important, sure, but I loved the fantasy of being my own person, making my own decisions, and only having myself to answer to. Now, before you come for me, of course, I love my parents. Their needs will always be important to me. That said, I hated the idea that loving them meant sidelining my own needs. And maybe that’s why so many adults today feel frustrated all the time.

The thing that no one tells you about living at home in your late twenties is that it puts you in a strange in-between space. You’re old enough to pay your own bills, manage deadlines, and handle your own crises, but somehow you're still expected to behave like someone who hasn’t fully earned the right to shut her bedroom door. It’s like experiencing adulthood through a filter: your independence is right there—visible, almost touchable—yet never fully yours to live. And I think it's the generational lag that causes much of this friction. 

We live in a world where your working hours, dating norms, and even social lives stretch well past midnight; It's not unusual. But for parents who grew up in the ’90s, this is a controversial topic because they’re still operating with rules from that era. So telling them you’re going out often means explaining a list of whys: Why do you need to? Why can’t you stay home? What time will you be back? Who are you going with? And while these questions may seemingly make sense to them, they can feel suffocating for an adult in her late 20s. You’re expected to be home at a “reasonable hour,” a term conveniently defined by someone who hasn’t been 20-something in decades. 

Of course, there’s the emotional layer no one warns you about. Parents who struggle to keep up with changing times often resort to familiar tactics: guilt, concern packaged as control, affection packaged as warnings, love packaged as “wanting what’s best for you.” Sometimes it’s subtle, like reminding you that they will be alone if you leave, and sometimes it’s sharp, like a casual jab that cuts a little too close. But the message is clear: independence is suspicious, freedom is unnecessary, and prioritising yourself over their needs is being ungrateful and borderline disrespectful.

And these emotional games often shape everything. Your moods shift with theirs. Your routine bends around theirs. Your personal decisions get silently filtered through “Will this annoy them?” becomes your daily mental checkpoint, and you end up living a life shaped around emotional consequences instead of personal preference. And that daily negotiation of choosing between your comfort and theirs slowly begins to erode your sense of self.

Coexistence becomes much tougher when you're navigating a remote or hybrid work life. You’re handling work stress while your mum wants to talk about the neighbour’s daughter getting married. You’re answering emails when your dad questions why you didn’t keep your plate properly. And worst of all, your silence becomes political, followed by digs that undermine you, reminders that “you don’t know everything,” or dismissive comments when you try to assert a boundary.

Some days, the gap between who you are outside and who you’re expected to be at home feels absurd. When you're out with friends, colleagues, or partners, you’re put-together, articulate, independent—the kind of person who knows what they’re doing. And then you walk through your front door, and the energy shifts—you’re gently nudged, casually questioned, and reminded of a version of yourself you’ve kind of moved past. It’s a bit like slipping into an old outfit you loved at 16 but don’t quite vibe with anymore: familiar, a little snug in places, and not entirely reflective of who you are now.

Psychologists call it “role regression.” Most of us don’t need the terminology because we recognise the emotional whiplash: the guilt of wanting space, the quiet resentment of feeling like our adulthood is constantly being audited. And the deeper truth is that millennials who live with their parents are carrying two timelines at once. Our personal timeline with our careers, relationships, and identity is moving forward. But at home, there are rules, expectations, and family dynamics, basically a timeline that's barely moving. We’re living in the present while being tugged back into the past.

And that tension just simmers.

There’s a softer side to all this frustration that we don’t always say out loud. Most of us stay, not because we’re incapable or unwilling to grow up, but because we’re trying to build something—financial stability, emotional safety, a future that feels steady instead of fragile. The pressure is real, but so is the intention. And yes, this phase of adulthood can feel limiting, but it’s also just a phase. It’s temporary. Something we’re all figuring out on the go, without a guidebook.

And maybe that’s exactly why we need to talk about it. Not to villainise parents—they’re doing the best they can with the world they grew up in. And not to romanticise moving out either. We can't pretend that living alone automatically fixes everything. We need to talk about this so that we can finally admit what so many of us quietly feel: we love our families, but we also want room to be ourselves. Those two realities shouldn’t contradict each other, and yet in homes like ours, they often do.

Living with your parents in your late twenties isn’t the easy comfort it’s made out to be. It’s a balancing act. A negotiation. A daily lesson in emotional diplomacy. And yes—some days, it’s deeply frustrating. But it’s also shaping an entire generation into people who understand boundaries, emotional labour, and what it truly means to build a life of your own.

Lead image credit: IMDb 

Also read: Why so many young people are cutting off their parents

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