Moving Out, Moving Back: Why Independence Has Become a Luxury

Whether you’re paying your own way, getting help from your parents, or quietly moving back into your childhood bedroom, one thing’s becoming clear in Sydney today: even sharehouse living has become a luxury.

This feature explores how the once-standard “move-out moment”, long seen as the first major step into adulthood, is now an economic privilege. Through interviews with Liam, who has returned home at 25, his parents, and insight from the Tenants’ Union of NSW, this story shows how rising costs are reshaping what independence means for young Australians. It also draws on two housemates, April and Keely, to show how financial support determines who can afford to be “independent” and who can’t.

Liam's Story

Liam is back in his old room two years after leaving it.

The furniture is the same, but the feeling isn’t. When he moved out, it felt like the beginning of adulthood: rent, groceries, laundry, keeping the fridge running. But as the months passed, the stress of making rent grew heavier than the excitement of independence.

Moving back wasn’t the plan.
But it’s where he can finally breathe again.

For a while, it felt like that.
He chose his own groceries. He split bills. He worked out which housemate never replaced the milk.

But independence in Sydney does not just cost effort; it costs most of your income.

“It’s not like I couldn’t pay rent,” he says. “I could. But that was all I could do.”

Most of his pay went to rent and groceries. There was nothing left for saving, or travel, or even just a drink after work.

“Moving out was supposed to bring independence and fun,” he says. “But I stayed home more than I do now.”

There was no dramatic breaking point no eviction notice, no final bill.
Just the slow realisation that he was working hard to stand still.

“I wasn’t drowning, but I wasn’t getting anywhere,” he says. “No savings, no future plan, no breathing room.”

The embarrassment faded too.

“Honestly, I thought coming home meant I’d failed. But now I feel more in control of my life. When I was renting, everything felt out of control.”

He still plans to move out again... eventually.

“When I do it again, I want it to feel like I’m living, not surviving. Independence shouldn’t come with burnout.”

Liam’s situation isn’t unusual.

Earlier this year, I spoke with April and Keely, two close friends living with housemates in Sydney. Same house. Same age. Same stage of life. But very different access to independence.

April pays her rent entirely from her wages. Most of her income goes to housing and essentials.
“In some ways I feel free,” she said. “But when it comes to doing what I actually want with my life, not really. Money decides that.”

Keely, who also works casually, receives rent support from her parents.
“I feel independent in how I live,” she said. “But I do rely on my parents for the essentials. If they weren’t helping, I couldn’t be here.”

Same sharehouse.
Different realities.

Independence isn’t just about moving out; it’s about who can afford to stay out.

The System Behind It

When I spoke with Eloise Parrab, Acting Policy and Advocacy Manager at the Tenants’ Union of NSW, she described a rental market where independence is increasingly tied to income, not age.

“There’s a real shortage of properties,” she said. “And an even bigger shortage of places that are actually affordable for students on low incomes.”

According to Domain’s 2025 Rental Report, Sydney’s median rent for a one-bedroom apartment has reached $750 per week, the highest on record.
Vacancy rates sit below 1%, meaning young renters compete fiercely for even the smallest spaces.

The Australian Bureau of Statistics reports that almost half of renters aged 18–29 now rely on some form of financial support to remain out of home.

And the sacrifices go deeper.

“We are hearing from young renters who are cutting back on essentials,” Parrab says. “People are avoiding heating, putting off medical appointments, or delaying medication because rent has to come first.”

Housing stress is defined as spending more than 30% of income on rent.
Many young renters are spending 50–60%.

In this context, moving back home is not failure; it’s one of the only forms of stability left.

What do parents think?

Liam’s parents say they were proud when he first moved out.

“It felt like the right step,” his mother says.

But they saw the shift.
“He just seemed tired,” his father says. “Not unhappy, just exhausted.”

When Liam brought up returning, it was a quiet conversation, not dramatic, not emotional.

“He didn’t want it to seem like failing,” his mother says. “We just said, ‘You can come home.”

They don’t see supporting him as unusual.

“A lot of families are doing this now,” his father says. “It’s not spoiling kids. It’s how people are getting by.”

And importantly, Liam is still independent.

“He comes and goes; he makes his own choices,” his mother says. “As long as he contributes and respects the house, I’m not bothered.”

Liam’s story shows how independence has changed shape.

It’s no longer simply about moving out, paying rent, and handling things alone.

For many young people in Sydney, independence now means making the best choices possible within the limits of rising costs and shrinking options.

April and Keely show how two people can live under the same roof yet experience independence completely differently.

And Eloise Parrab makes clear: these differences are not about maturity or effort.
They are about access.

Moving home is not stepping backwards.
It is pausing long enough to breathe.

Independence hasn’t disappeared.
It has just changed form.

For some, it looks like renting.
For others, it looks like returning home to reset.
For most, it looks like finding stability wherever stability is possible.

Maybe adulthood isn’t about doing it alone.
Maybe adulthood is simply about finding a way to live sustainably.