10 Shocking Discoveries Of Moving Out

Whenever you decide to do it, moving out of home is a shock to the system.

Discovering that the complaints your parents have made your entire life about household chores are in fact completely viable is a pretty horrifying experience.

I seem to be finding more ways every day as to why being a grown-up might be a liiittle more tricky than anticipated; but here are ten of the main shockers when it comes to moving out of home into a world of your own:

10 Shocking Discoveries Of Moving Out

  1. Life becomes an endless repeat of wiping down the kitchen sides. Like, ALL THE TIME. Even when you make a cup of tea and the teabag does a little drip from cup to bin and you think you might just leave it cos’ it’s only a little one? Nope. Now you have to wipe it because if you don’t, it’ll just stay there. Probs until the end of time.
  2. You spend a heartbreaking amount of money on food only to discover three days later that it’s all magically disappeared. (Please don’t make me go food shopping againnnn.)
  3. The bathroom gets filthy real quick. And if you don’t clean it, it just gets worse. No magic bathroom cleaning fairies in this house.
  4. You run out of clean pants very fast. And they don’t just turn up clean on your bed anymore. In fact, when you need them, they’re still in the last place you saw them – in the laundry basket being all not clean.
  5. The dishwasher is so needy. It always needs something putting in or taking out. (That’s what she said.)
  6. Note to self: the pots do not jump from dishwasher to cupboards by themselves. Who knew?
  7. You have to remember to change your bed sheets all on your own. No reminders, no prompts, no ‘I cleaned your sheets for you’ surprises. It’s just you and your own brain. Forever.
  8. You develop a serious obsession with turning off every light that hasn’t been used for the last 3.3 seconds.
  9. If you get hungry, you and you alone are going to have to do something about that. And you haven’t wanted to face a food shop this week and you’re pretty sure you’ve cooked every meal ever invented in the entire world and When. Will. This. End?
  10. Some hoovers operate with hoover bags. And you have to spend actual money on said hoover bags. (You mean to tell me that some part of my life has been spent on earning money to purchase bags which are merely used to hold dust before being thrown into the bin? Kill me. Kill me now.)

I can almost hear my Mum squealing with delight as she reads about my realisations.

Yes Mother, it appears you were right all along: I did treat that place like a hotel. Now how do I make a reservation?


What have been the most shocking discoveries of moving out for you? How do you fit all this stuff in? What’s the typical recovery period from the shock? (You do recover right? Please tell me you recover?!)


On living together: the good, the bad and the ugly.

I have to live with a boy!

“We really need to get out of this habit of just throwing things on the floor,” he said, picking up a pair of my carelessly strewn pyjama bottoms.

Oh dear. And so it begins.

Now, I may have flown across the world to experience my first time living with a boy, and living with another couple too makes it all feel a lot less grown up. But nevertheless, the same rules apply to the latest new experience of my twenties.

Weekly eagerly anticipated date nights are now, like, just every evening at the dinner table.

When we can afford date night out (apparently paying rent can put a little dent in the weekly dinner, cinema, drinks, clubbing fund) it’s usually a good chance to have a conversation about serious stuff, like money, or bills, or business plans or the future.

And when you just wanna let it all hang out? Well, you’ve just gotta do what a girls gotta do and hope for the best that you’ll still be loved through every single surprise revelation that you might not be quite as glamorous all the time as you might have been three times a week for evening dates and weekend sleepovers.

On living together: the good, the bad and the ugly.

The good:

  • Before the day has even really started, you get to see a face you love, and that’s EVERY DAY!
  • You have someone to tell about your night full of crazy dreams without a) judgement, and b) the risk of being labelled as the office ‘most boring storyteller ever’.
  • You get to have a sleepover with your best friend every night!
  • There’s always someone there to listen to stories about your day.
  • There’s always someone there to complain to.
  • If you need a cuddle, you’ve got it. And if you really really don’t, that’s generally always fine too.
  • You share everything – secrets, in-jokes, tea-making, mutual hatred for the loud clattering of the postman, mutual love for watching hours of your current TV addiction.
  • There’s always someone to tell you that you look nice. With the correct prompting, obviously. (I.e. ‘Do I look nice? Insert wisest answer here [____]’)
  • If you forget to buy deodorant, there’s always back up.

The bad:

  • With mornings can come grumpy grunts and frowns, and that’s before the day has even started.
  • Someone might begin to realise how much you enjoy keeping your stuff where you can see it (i.e. all over the floor, desk, chair, bedside table etc..)
  • Someone might often complain about the above point by shouting ‘shit on the floor again!’ to which, any guests unaware of the context, are likely to presume that, (unless you have a dog, which we do not) you might have actually done a shit on the floor, again. And that’s never good.
  • Someone else’s hair joins yours around the sink.
  • You have to clean the bathroom that another human being has used.
  • Boys are smelly – will they ALWAYS think farts are hilarious?
  • You end up HAVING to share stuff (that incredibly expensive colour restore shampoo has been wasted wash after wash on a man that has never coloured his hair, nor has any desire in restoring it.)

The ugly:

Fights. Silly little bickery ‘can we just stop and listen to ourselves?!’ fights about mess and washing and cleaning and doing dishes and mattress toppers and early morning alarms that NEVER STOP and lights being left on and eating all the food shop on delivery day and who used the last of the milk and where did all the biscuits go and all the other things you’ve been fighting with your parents about for years, only to now realise, this shit never ends!

Like, ever.

But when it comes down to it, even through all the brand new grown up stuff that I never once dreamt I’d ever have to deal with, well it’s really very nice, this living together thing.

Snatched kisses in the kitchen, the LAUGHS that bubble out post-fight when we realise we’re arguing over whether to buy a fitted or a flat sheet, always thinking about someone else and knowing that they’re always thinking about you (sure, apart from when the football’s on, or being discussed, or being played, or being mentioned, or just existing), the sharing of the smallest most boring things like taking in the shopping or preparing a meal or doing the dishes feeling like you’re part of a mini team as you tackle this new grown up world together.

Those giggles, and that getting each other, and the comfort, and the listening and the believing in each other’s goals and plans and dreams. It all wins. The good stuff wins!

But the farts really do have to stop.

stop the fartsYou’re battling the twenties too, huh? The best way to win is to face it together! Get in touch: littleredfrench@gmail.com

Or leave me a comment below


Some things never change.

Get it together

When I was 12 years old, I remember thinking 24 was the age I’d have it all figured out. I was sure I’d know exactly what I wanted to do with my life, I was adamant I’d be bloody loaded, and positive that I’d be so totally grown up that I wouldn’t even dream of caring what anyone thought of me.

Well, 24 arrived this month, and to my surprise I didn’t wake up on my birthday and suddenly have my shit together.

What’s worse, is that when I think about it, my 12 year old perspective of the world and of myself, hasn’t actually changed a lot.

You see, when I was 12, I never thought at the age of 24:

  • That I’d still look in the mirror and immediately focus on the bits I hate.
  • That I’d still look in the mirror and hate anything at all.
  • That I’d still be hurt by girls because of boys.
  • That I’d still be hurt by girls because of girls.
  • That I’d still have a burning desire in many a situation to storm off screaming ‘I can’t do it!’
  • That the sound of my mother asking me to sort out laundry would still provoke the want to foot stamp and slam a door.
  • That I’d still have to book in an evening to tidy my bedroom.
  • That I’d still have a messy bedroom.
  • That I’d still cry, on a weekly basis, just because.
  • That I’d still worry about what to wear to parties.
  • That sometimes the only thing to make a bad day better would still be a hug from my mum.
  • That I’d still be questioning the stupidity of the male species.
  • That I’d still be wondering if I was clever enough, or pretty enough, or interesting enough, or thin enough.


These are the sort of worries that at high school were simply blamed on hormones and teenage tantrums and they would undoubtedly be ‘grown out of’. But the world failed to mention that they were all in fact to blame on this crazy little thing called life. Or more specifically, this crazy little thing called being a woman. And that they probably wouldn’t go away, ever.

Don’t get me wrong though, some things may not have changed much compared to half of my lifetime ago, but what has changed significantly is the way I handle those things (thank goodness):

  • When I look in the mirror I do focus on the bits I hate, but that’s before I force myself to look at the bits I appreciate.
  • I don’t think I’ll ever not hate something about myself, sadly I think it’s embedded into female DNA, but luckily I’ve learnt to love a lot of things to counteract it.
  • If a girl hurts me because of a boy, they’re probably not worth my time or a place in my life.
  • If a girl hurts me because of a girl, they’re probably no good for me.
  • When I do want to storm off screaming ‘I can’t do it,’ I’ll stick it out until I realise that I can.
  • When my mother asks me to do the laundry – to be honest, I think that will always provoke a foot stamp, but I appreciate the need for chores (I think.)
  • Tidy room, tidy mind (isn’t that what ‘they’ say?) I put aside time every once in a while to organise my busy life before I go crazy, and a tidy room is just a little part of that.
  • Being messy – it will never change, but, as above, I keep it under control when I can.
  • Crying on a weekly basis – for me, it’s a mental and physical release, and if I didn’t do it my head would explode. So there.
  • I think I’ll always worry about what to wear to parties, to go out, to go to work, to go to the gym – but once I’ve made the decision and stuck to it confidently, well I’d say that’s a pretty grown up thing to do.
  • Men are loveable idiots – the sooner I learn to accept their stupidity the better.
  • I’ll always need a hug from my mum, some things just never change.
  • And as for being clever enough, or pretty enough, or interesting enough, or thin enough – although I’ll never know what ‘enough’ really is, and realistically I may not ever be it, what I have learnt is that being ‘me’ is just fine.

Wait a minute – maybe I do have my shit together after all.

Hello Future Self.

A couple of weeks back, I attended a reunion at my primary school. It was the 25th anniversary of the school’s opening, where headteachers, teachers and students past and present reunited for tea and cake, to catch up with old faces and reminisce over the school photographs of every class since the beginning,

It was so lovely to see my old teachers, albeit a little strange to get used to the fact that they weren’t going to tell me off for talking or giggling or being too loud. And once I’d made it through the awkwardness of introducing myself – since I’ve lost my puppy fat and dyed my hair red and none of them recognised me – the adult conversation flowed.


I attended with one of my friends whom I met at that school nearly 20 years ago, and who I’m still close to now. That made me feel pretty old (I know, at 23, really?!)

Although it was such a long time ago now, that school was essentially where the person I am today began to form – only a lot littler and cuter and frecklier.

It got me to thinking what a perfect time being a six year old was, where my only worries were coming up with witty comebacks to the boys’ and their variations of ‘ginger’ jokes, choosing who my best friend would be that week and deciding what bow to wear in my hair that day,

Though as lovely as that little life seems, I’m sure when I’m older with a mortgage and a family, I’ll be writing about how lovely it would be to be 23, for my only worries to be about what my future will hold, which country to travel to next and losing my mobile phone.

If I could, I’d tell my six year old self to smile at those ‘ginger’ jokes, as that red hair will leave you laughing at boys one day. I’d also advise her to pick a couple of best friends and keep all of them for every week, as you’ll be needing them a lot, forever. And I’d break the news to her that sadly, worrying about how to wear your hair will actually always be a major life concern.

So today, because I can, and it’s not too late, I’m giving some advice to my 23 year old self: stop worrying, see what happens, say ‘yes’ to adventures, say ‘no’ to negativity, laugh always, be grateful, and make 43 year old you very proud.