A Room Full of Change
Overcoming the difficulties of my newfound living situation.
Story by Emily Feek
M y bedroom is a time capsule, almost entirely untouched since the time I graduated high school. My cat JoJo just made the three-hour move home with me and meows until I let him out of his kennel. When I look around, I can’t decide whether I’m grateful for the familiarity of my room or if I want it to be more impersonal — more adult. Between the shelf of stuffed animals and the notes from middle school stuck to my magnet board, I feel smaller.
In April 2020, I was laid off from my job as an apartment adviser and moved home. I remember being told approximately 90% of students living on-campus at Western Washington University moved, too.
I ended up trading my independence for a stable living environment amid the pandemic.
I’m not the only person who felt stressed because of a move during this time. A survey interviewed 195 students at a Texas public university and found that 67% of them reported having mild to severe stress related to a change in their living environment.
Combine that with other pandemic-related stressors, such as health, maintaining social connections and managing online school, and I was juggling a significant amount of stress. It wasn’t surprising, given that a PEW Research Center survey about COVID-19 and mental health found that people ages 18–29, especially people with low-income and women, were more likely than other age groups to report higher levels of anxiety and stress.
By the time finals week of spring break rolled around, I was burnt out. I had a handwritten list of everything I needed to finish before break, but looking at it, I felt no motivation. Instead of working, I played Red Dead Redemption 2 and tried not to have a breakdown. I didn’t have the energy for much beyond the bare minimum.
How can I feel like an adult when I’m living at home in a space meant for a child?
Even after I trudged through finals and finished the quarter, this question stuck with me.
I couldn’t tell whether I felt more trapped by the pandemic or by my memories of similar mental health episodes. The mementos on my magnet board and bookshelves reminded me of the person I used to be when I was in a less-than-ideal headspace for most of high school.
Ignoring stressors doesn’t work forever. Doctoral intern Daniel Mai from Western’s counseling center compared stress to a volcano. According to Mai, when someone doesn’t manage their stress, they’ll erupt at some point. Even without an eruption, stress can impact your sleep, academic performance and generally lead to a less satisfying life.
“Try to make things more comfortable,” Mai said about managing move-related stress. “How can you make this your space?”
I was alone with my thoughts, still unemployed and in a space that didn’t feel entirely mine when summer hit. Without an excuse to spend time in my office work area and a pandemic keeping me home, I spent the majority of my time in my bedroom. A month passed by in a blur of playing Overwatch, burning through Jeff Lindsay’s “Dexter” and bingeing Netflix’s flavor-of-the-week series.
It was the first summer since my sophomore year of high school that I had a real summer break, but I only felt stagnant, like the world was spinning and leaving me behind.
I decided I was done stagnating, but I wasn’t sure how to change until July. It all started with a trip to IKEA with one of my friends who needed new dinner plates. I came home with a stuffed shark and realized two days later I needed under-bed storage. My room felt messy and unorganized, and I had an inkling that storing some of my childhood belongings would make me feel better.
Making a second trip to IKEA that week and assembling the drawers by myself made me feel more mature, but I felt more empowered when I tucked away my baby blankets and picture books. I was making room for my adult self. And when I replaced the oppressive gray drapes with gauzy clearance-aisle ones I purchased on a whim, both my room and my mood brightened.
I hauled the chair in the corner of my room out to the street where it disappeared within a week; a cube organizer, which I filled with my video games and used CDs, took its place. My dad helped me remove the magnet board from my wall, and I filled the space with art prints and cork boards instead. I replaced posters I’d gotten out of video game cases with watercolor prints of frogs from an artist I liked.
After starting to read for fun again for the first time since high school, I put all of my childhood books in storage to make room for second-hand copies of Japanese crime novels and mysteries I collected. Only my Stephen King books remained where they were.
Anything that didn’t spark joy, as Marie Kondo would say, was either stored or donated.
I extended this organization to the rest of my life, doubling down on efforts to balance school work with dedication to self-care time, which I penciled into my hour-by-hour planner. I realized if I want to be happy and enjoy the environment I live in, I have to continue being intentional about my choices.
As graduation looms and I continue to adorn my walls with posters and art prints, I know another move is coming soon. Regardless of what my future living situation holds, I’m ready to empower myself through my personal space and take my happiness into my own hands. I have a planner and a pad of sticky notes to keep me accountable. On the hard days, I’m confident in my ability to reach out for help from the people I care about.
A year later, my room feels different. Instead of a time capsule, it’s a space that lives and grows with me, reflecting who I am as an adult. From the art on my walls to my curtains to the things I do, it’s a changed space.
