When I step through the entrance of my parents' house, I become a child again

Summer vacation is almost here.

This year, I am planning to load the family into the car, pack the trunk with luggage, and head back to my parents' house.

I can already imagine what kind of switch will flip inside me the moment I finally park the car in my parents' driveway after navigating through highway traffic.

In my own home, I am usually the one acting like a commander, nagging my children every day with things like, "Clean up!" and "No more TV!"

However, the moment I open the door to my parents' house and drop the heavy luggage I took out of the car into the hallway, that dignity completely vanishes.

As my children run over to an old ornament on the shelf, curious and asking, "What's this!?", I also leave my luggage in the hallway and am drawn straight to the tatami mats in the living room.

I collapse flat on my back, look up at the fluorescent light on the ceiling, and shout out:

"Mom, where's the cold barley tea?"

It is a magnificent regression that even I find astonishing.

Even though I am supposed to be a respectable adult who pays a mortgage, bows at work, and manages both housework and childcare, the moment I cross the threshold of my parents' house, I become unable to even secure a drink for myself.

When my parents look at my bag left in the hallway and say with an exasperated look, "Oh, take your own luggage to your room already," I just roll around and give a vague, "I'll do it later."

Even when my children watch me from the side and give me a cold look, saying, "Mom, you're completely different from at home...", I don't care at all.

The switch that flips the moment I park the car

Why does our mental age, which we spend our daily lives maintaining as parents, suddenly rewind to our former selves the moment we step through the entrance of our parents' house?

Actually, this phenomenon is not just laziness; it is a psychological defense mechanism that can be explained by psychology.

This type of phenomenon is sometimes explained by the concept of "regression" in defense mechanisms.

When people live as adults or parents, they are constantly carrying unconscious tension and a sense of responsibility.

However, to protect the mind from that tension, a defensive reaction kicks in that tries to return to a time in the past when things felt safe.

In other words, the moment you enter the space of your parents' house, you feel that it is a safe place, and the tension of being an adult relaxes.

Spatial stimuli and family roles

What is even more interesting is the way space holds memories.

The smell of tatami mats, the layout of the living room, the scratches on the pillars.

The brain, having caught these stimuli, automatically recalls the behavioral patterns for the parents' home that were once active in that place.

With the addition of the presence of parents, the old roles within the family can naturally be recreated.

It is strange that even if you become a parent yourself, once you stand before your own parents, you naturally return to the role of their child.

The fact that we end up acting spoiled at our parents' house can be said to be the result of our brains confirming safety and adapting to the environment.

…Well, that doesn't mean it's an excuse to leave my luggage lying around and rely on my parents.

Thinking about the journey home in the future

On a summer evening, in a living room where the west wind blows through, there are moments when I am enveloped in old memories and a somewhat nostalgic silence.

Perhaps the reason we can return to being children and stretch our wings to the fullest is that the space of our parents' home and the memories there still quietly remember the safe times of the past.

While looking at the old scratches on the pillars or the living room that still retains its former appearance, there may be moments when you are startled by the realization of the passage of time.

The time spent at our parents' home or in places of memory may be a time to gently touch our own origins, while at the same time being a time to unwind from the tensions of being an adult.

After spending a few days like that, I find myself imagining, just a little bit, my future self packing luggage into the trunk of the car on the final evening and waving goodbye.

As the scenery reflected in the rearview mirror grows smaller, I listen to the breathing of my children sleeping comfortably in the back seat, and on the way home, I slowly return to the face of a "mother."

I think that phenomenon where we can return to being children for just a moment at our parents' home becomes a mysterious summer time where we, who survive our hectic daily lives, go to meet the warmth of our past selves and precious times.

▼ For those who want to look at a little more "wonder"

The unique sense of liberation that comes the moment you shed the responsibilities and roles of daily life on the first day of a long weekend. A mysterious time when the heart lets "itself" take a break, somewhat similar to the feeling of returning to being a child at your parents' home.

The distance from parents and the feelings of not being able to be honest that I feel now that I am an adult. The warm, indescribable aftertaste that exists back-to-back with the clumsiness of acting spoiled at my parents' home.