Choosing Myself: A Decade-Long Lesson in Letting Go

Hi my GoodHuman 😊

I'm so happy to be back with you this week and excited to share a little background about myself—and some exciting news!

A little life update: my husband Danny and I purchased our first home!

I’ve been living in the same place for the past 10 years, and this is my first move that doesn’t consist of packing up a dorm room. The place I've called home has been my sanctuary through about 98% of my adult life phases. I’ve had two amazing roommates during optometry school—both of whom I had the honor of standing beside on their wedding days. I lived with my fiancé (now husband) for the first time, we planned our wedding, bought our first “adult furniture,” and truly built a life together in that space.

It’s been the home where I studied for hours, hosted parties, and fully embraced downtown Chicago living. Located just down the street from the Sears Tower, it came with a view I’ll miss dearly. Not a day has gone by where I haven’t felt lucky to live there.

However, that wonderful home came with strings attached—complications I had to weigh in order to call it “home.”

My dad bought the condo while I was in optometry school. It was meant to be a full-time home for me (with a roommate) and a weekend place for him. In those early days, I’d often escape to Danny’s place in Wrigley, and my roommate did the same. That arrangement lasted about two years. When Danny moved in after we got engaged, my dad and his then-fiancé would occasionally stay with us on weekends. Honestly, it was great at the time. We had fun—went to shows, dinners, concerts—and made some wonderful memories. It felt like hosting family, and I was genuinely happy to have my dad and his fiancé stay with us!

Things changed after Danny and I got married and my dad split from his fiancé. As a now single man, he started using the condo as a space to party and date. It became less about spending time with us and more about reliving his bachelor days. We were woken up at 2 a.m., sometimes by him and not alone, listening to his conversations with women he met at the bar or online. I even found myself changing his sheets. You can imagine the horror. This wasn’t how a newly married couple should be living. And it definitely wasn’t how a father and daughter should coexist.

Now, you might be thinking, “Well Taryn, you were living in his condo,” and you’d be right.

That’s the mind-bender I’ve wrestled with for the last decade. But I’ve always paid rent—less while I was a student, more as a working adult and DINK (double income, no kids). Depending on the rental market, I traded between $400–$900 off the going rent so my dad could use the condo when he wanted. He also lived part-time in Florida, so for part of the year, we had peace.

For a while, that tradeoff felt worth it—until it didn’t. As he stayed single, it became clear this couldn’t continue. So we set boundaries. Over the last five years, those boundaries evolved: two days a week at the condo max, no guests if we were home, and cleaning up after himself when he left.

That worked… until it didn’t. My dad grew unhappy about not being able to have guests. So the arrangement changed again. For the last few years, we’ve traded our condo for his lake house (my childhood home before my parents divorced) for two weekends a month between June and October. Every summer, he’d float the idea of taking the condo back permanently—but would ultimately change his mind.

You might be thinking these details don’t matter, and maybe they don’t. Maybe you’re thinking I was in a privileged situation and shouldn’t have been frustrated. But I share all of this because, for the last 10 years, I chose this situation—and I was living under his control. His terms. His whims. His negotiations. I built a home in someone else’s house. A year or two like that may not have affected me much. But ten years? That trade started costing me my sense of self, my worth, and the belief that my husband and I could create a home of our own—without my dad’s support.

Through the years, he made a point to tell people that his daughter lived in his condo in the city—leaving out the part where I paid rent. That narrative sticks with you. And I had to regularly untangle it to remind myself of the truth.

About six months ago, I finally recognized that I was trading my sense of identity, my time, and my life for a situation I had chosen, but no longer fit.

A home is meant to be a reflection of who you are—a place that brings peace and joy. I started to see what I was giving up just to live in a beautiful space at a discounted price. The walls started to feel darker, and I realized I’d outgrown what once served me.

So—before we were ever asked to leave the place we’ve loved for years—we took matters into our own hands and left on our own terms.

And now, I’m so incredibly excited to share that we’ve been renovating our first home for the past month! It’s been amazing, overwhelming, and energy-draining in the best ways. When it came time to write a blog post two weeks ago, I just didn’t have the energy. Skipping it felt right in the moment, but I also realized it wasn’t a habit I want to form. Even if I don’t have a BetterHuman tool to share, I still want to show up—just like I promised. To share a thought, a moment in my life, or maybe something from yours.

If this complicated parent/dad dynamic resonates with you—I see you. I get it. And I want you to know that you are in control of your life, your dreams, and your ability to choose. Choose your Self. Choose to Become a BetterHuman.

It’s not always easy—and sometimes it will cost you—but choosing your Self will always be worth it in the long run.

Thank you for being here with me.
I’m truly grateful that you took the time to listen to my story—it means more than you know. Let’s keep growing, learning, and Becoming BetterHumans, together.

Love, 

Taryn