My mother sent a letter to me that began with truth, things we both likely believe:

You are almost 30 and you need to get your act together. You've been living in a tourist place and you don't want to settle there. You don't want to be there for the rest of your life.

She continued with her only suggestion:

Move back home. There are lots of good jobs here.

And then she followed it with lies:

Your brother's going to move here after he retires next year.

My mother will never never stop thinking that coming home will solve all my problems. Like all the things that have happened to me will just go away. I don't really think she'd thinking of my happiness. She's always tried to get me do what she wants. I didn't run home when things fell to shit here 6 years ago, and I'm not moving back now.

I'm not coming home, mom. I'm sorry, but there's a big world out there, much bigger than you can provide me in your comfort. I don't know if you will understand this, mom, but I have a life here, one I'm pretty proud of. Your generation taught me that I can't rely on a career to provide me much of anything, that what really matters, what gets me through, is friends and community, two things I aggressively and actively seek to establish and maintain. Things that bring me joy, that complete me. Because mom, I may never have children, and I may likely never end up like you. Not that what you ended up in is bad, but it's not me. So what if I'm almost 30?

I owe you nothing. Stop pushing. I'm almost 30, and if was going to work, it would have worked by now.