Rent-Free Living and Reluctant Adulting: A Sibling Success Story

Several months ago, I decided to jump into a brand-new business venture. It felt exciting. It felt right. It also felt like standing at the edge of a cliff while trying to build a parachute out of grocery bags.

Thankfully, I had some unexpected boosts: I landed in not one, but two grant cohorts—incredible programs that provided funding and access to amazing mentors. The catch? I had to get my act together to actually earn that funding. It was like motivational boot camp, and I powered through.

I finished the programs. I secured the grants. I celebrated the progress. And then I slammed straight into the next challenge: I had to start selling myself.

As someone who works in marketing, it’s ironic—but true—that I’m far more comfortable promoting other people’s brilliance than shining a light on my own.

Enter: my big brother.

Now, let me be clear—I have several big brothers. But this one? This is the biggest brother. The oldest. The wisest of us all (according to him—and probably our parents). He's been around a while—eight years longer than I have, to be exact—and he’s been brutally honest with me for just about as long.

When I was in my early 20s, he once very bluntly informed me that I finally became cool at age 21.(Which, honestly, was generous.)

That was around the time I was graduating college and desperately searching for a "big girl" job—or honestly, any job that would let me stop listing "student" as my occupation.

Luckily, my big brother came through. He pulled some strings at the rock radio station where he was a (pretty popular) morning DJ and helped me land my very first real-world gig.

He didn’t just help me get the job—he offered me a rent-free room at his place until I could get on my feet. There was just one tiny holdup: the room had previously belonged to his parrot, Scooter. So, Scooter got evicted to make room for me (and relocated to my brother’s living space), and while I did feel mildly guilty about it, I have to believe Scooter ultimately adapted. (Or at least plotted his revenge quietly in the background. Still waiting for that to play out. Birds live forever.)

The job itself? I hated it. (Like, counted-down-the-hours-every-day hated it.) But living with him? Absolutely loved it.

We worked together. We built a crew of hilarious friends. And for a while, we made “pretending to be adults” look like a full-time hobby. Honestly, it was some of the best fun I've ever had.

When I realized radio wasn’t my forever and started eyeing an opportunity with AmeriCorps VISTA in Chicago, he didn’t make me feel guilty for wanting to leave (a mere 3 months after arriving 😬). He made it clear that his work reputation wasn’t my burden to carry. He supported me in chasing what felt right—even if it meant more changes for both of us.

He even drove with me to Chicago for my first site visit—staying overnight at a nun house (but that’s definitely a story for another time). He helped me move. He cheered me on.

After I left, he made his own big leap—moving across the country to LA for his own adventure. I was terrified to have him so far away after we had just finally gotten so close. But somehow, both of us grew into ourselves during that time, and we found new versions of home.

And then, by some beautiful twist of fate, we both ended up moving back to Michigan around the same time. We bunked up at Grandma’s house—me in the basement, him upstairs. (Yes, I got the better deal. Sucker.)

Grandma headed off on an extended trip to Florida, and we pretended we were doing her a favor by house-sitting. Really, she put a roof over our heads we couldn’t have afforded otherwise after all of our "big-city" fun.

Eventually, we got an apartment together. We lived, we worked, we grew up.

Then life happened. I got married. I had kids. He changed careers. The years shifted, and so did we.

But the foundation stayed the same: he’s still the guy who shows up for me.

So when I needed someone recently to help keep me accountable as I launched this new project, I knew exactly who to ask.

We set a monthly meeting—just the two of us. We catch up on life, we laugh, we talk about our latest wins and worries, and somewhere in there, he reminds me (bluntly, lovingly) to keep moving forward. He believes in me even when I’m stuck in my own head. He challenges me to stop dragging my feet. He reminds me that doing the thing—even imperfectly—is better than waiting for perfect conditions that will never come.

And it’s not just my business that’s benefiting. It’s my life. It’s my heart.

So this post is a giant thank you to my biggest brother. For helping me become braver. For cheering me on and calling me out. For giving me room to figure it out. And for always, always showing up.

If you’re lucky enough to have someone in your corner who pushes you, supports you, and occasionally roasts you—you know what a gift that is.

Here’s to the people who make the climb easier, just by being willing to walk beside us.