“This is ridiculous—we have a baby, why don’t we just swap rooms?” That’s how my brother’s wife tried to push Alexander out of his own space.
This happened to a good mate of mine from uni. His name’s Alexander—just twenty-two—living with his parents in their three-bedroom house in a quiet part of Manchester. Fairly standard setup: three generations under one roof—his parents, him, and his older brother’s family, who’d just had a baby.
Alex’s brother, James, wasn’t earning enough to rent his own place, so he, his wife Emily, and their newborn had to share with the rest of them. Everyone had their own room, but the kitchen and bathroom were shared. Yeah, it got cramped, but until recently, they’d all managed fine. Alex never complained—kept to himself, studied, worked odd jobs, and as they say, didn’t step on anyone’s toes.
Then, one not-so-great day, Emily cornered him with her “brilliant” idea.
“Alex, love, we’ve got a baby now… maybe we should switch rooms? Yours gets such lovely sunlight! Ours is always dim, feels a bit damp, too. Not good for the little one, is it?”
Alex was taken aback. He knew the damp bit was rubbish—no one had ever mentioned it before. Besides, his room, though a couple metres smaller, was far more practical—square, warm, cosy. Theirs had a balcony, weirdly long walls, and a constant draft. And let’s not forget that balcony was where Mum dried the laundry, Dad stored his tools, and James snuck out for a smoke.
Emily kept pressing.
“Ours is bigger, anyway! And if you’re bothered by the chill, you’re a bloke—just seal the windows. Hardly rocket science!”
Alex was fuming inside. They were trying to take his space, hiding behind the baby. James? Silent as a shadow. Never once hinted he wanted to move. Only Emily kept at it, insisting it was the right thing, that he *owed* it to them…
Alex refused. Politely but firmly. He didn’t want to live in a high-traffic room where someone would barge in every few hours for nappies, socks, or fags. He didn’t want to lose the right to have his girlfriend over without someone rummaging for washing powder the next second.
“Mum and Dad’s room is their space. James and Emily’s is theirs. Mine is the only bit I’ve got,” he told her. “Sorry, but I’m not swapping.”
After that, the mood in the house turned frosty. Emily stopped speaking to him, just glared on her way past like he’d done something awful. James acted as if nothing was wrong. The parents stayed out of it, playing neutral.
Alex noticed but didn’t let it bother him. He knew Emily’s game—guilt-tripping him with “kindness” and “the baby’s needs.” But none of that left room for *his* needs.
“Don’t mind helping out,” he said to me. “But why does it have to come at my expense? Why should I be the one giving ground while they do nothing to fix things themselves?”
He’s right. Everyone’s entitled to their boundaries. Even if you’re still at home. Even if you’re only twenty-two. Even if someone else has a kid.
Emily was miffed. Of course. She didn’t get her way. But Alex knows—it’s not his fault. And he won’t feel guilty for keeping the one bit of space that’s truly his.
Sometimes, to hold your ground, you’ve just got to say no. And mean it.
