This year, we had a quiet Christmas. We often get together with extended family and count more than 20 people sitting down for lunch. Preparations take weeks and the day itself is boisterous, loud, and exhausting, so it seemed very restrained to have just seven of us: Ed and me, the four kidults, and one partner.
Fortunately, we all get on. When I hear about the problems associated with families coming together for their once a year festive meet-up, I realise how lucky we are that we don’t have to endure that stress. I suppose that much of the tension attached to infrequent family gatherings comes from bottled-up grievances, but in our multigenerational household it’s normal to argue and complain, and by talking about little irritations, perceived injustices, or bad behaviour, we can generally sort it out and move on. The other plus for living under the same roof is the deep familiarity the years have built, which might sometimes breed contempt, but usually creates easygoing tolerance and affection.
According to a survey by Center Parcs, one in three of us only sees our parents once a year, and more than half of us see our siblings fewer than six times a year. These statistics horrify me, especially as Ed and I teeter on the brink of putting our house on the market, starting the inevitable breakup of our family unit as the older children will be forced to leave their bedrooms to enter the rental market and survive alone – perhaps even in a different city.
I think about a Cecil Day-Lewis quote: “Selfhood begins with a walking away / And love is proved in the letting go.” The words seem wise, and I have often repeated them to myself, but now I wonder if, after all, pushing our children out into the world is right. Day-Lewis’s poem was written for a different society. There’s less of a stigma about twentysomethings staying in the parental home today. In fact, multigenerational living seems to be becoming the norm, and doesn’t necessarily mean that the stay-at-home kids aren’t growing up.
As we agonise about the decision to sell, we talk over pros and cons. Financially, it’s tough to keep supporting the kids. Remaining in our home means bigger bills from running a bigger household and feeding so many mouths. We have little privacy. The house is filled with “stuff”. It’s noisy: I get woken by heavy footsteps passing my bedroom door in the early hours. We have no storage space. The kitchen is filled with bicycles. Nobody ever seems to empty the bins.
But living in a large group is fun. I am close to my children and know the ins and outs of their everyday lives. I get help with the shopping. They cook suppers and are occasional dog-walkers and dog-sitters. They are good company – at their best, entertaining, empathetic, inspiring, intelligent and challenging.
Loneliness is an epidemic in our society that affects people of all ages. It is detrimental to our physical health and emotional wellbeing. Surveys show that it’s not fame and fortune that make us happy, it’s friends and family. When I told my sister our plans for downsizing, her first response was, “But won’t you be lonely?”
The honest answer is, “Yes.” Ed works long hours and is often away. I will have to get used to my own company – and deal with solitude. Solitude doesn’t necessarily mean loneliness, and I have spent years moaning about my lack of privacy. I’ve been vocal longing to have the house to myself for uninterrupted time to work, think, read, listen to the radio. But I am used to having a companion. There’s always someone around to chat to, eat with, walk the dogs with; the buzz of other lives lived in proximity is part of the fabric of my existence: the shouting up the stairs, the music and laughter and arguments.
I do not know what is the “right” thing to do, or whether I can separate what is right for the children from what is right for Ed and me as a couple. But as January flips past, I remember the estate agent’s advice to put the house on the market in the new year, and panic rises.
Some names have been changed
