I moved back into my childhood home at age 40 with my husband and 3 kids. It's been surprisingly nice.

• About a month ago, my family of five moved into my childhood home with my parents.
• It's been nice to save money and reflect on memories from when I was a child with my own kids.
• We're looking forward to the kids spending more time with their grandparents, too.

The younger version of myself would never have foreseen I'd end up living with my mummy and daddy at age 40, but sometimes life throws a spanner in the works.

Earlier this year, my family of five moved to my hometown of the Gold Coast in Australia. I'd been living overseas, then in Melbourne and regional Victoria for 15 years.

On a trip to see my folks last July, I noticed how much their health was declining and realized that my time with my parents was running out. It was now or never if I wanted to live close to them.

The Gold Coast's property and rental prices have skyrocketed in recent years. And so, when my parents offered us their home while they traveled through the US and Canada for two months, we leapt at the opportunity.

Moving back into mum and dad's house — the one I grew up in until I went to university at 17 — I wasn't sure how it would go. Would I feel like a failure returning to the nest after so many years away?

Was I actually going to be a "boomerang kid" — an adult who returns to live at the family home because they can't stand on their own two feet financially? Yep, I'm afraid I was.

And so, one January morning, my parents flew to America, and later that afternoon, our family of five rolled into their driveway.

A little over a month has passed, and the experience of living in my childhood home again has been unexpectedly positive.

Childhood memories are flooding back

I've always been one to share stories with my kids, but the past few weeks have been next level. Living in the house I grew up in has brought back so many memories.

For example, the other night there was a huge electrical storm. We turned off the television and sat together on the veranda watching the lightning flash across the sky.

I told my kids about how, when I was young, I loved watching summer storms roll in with my parents. I'd clutch my dolls close to my chest, whispering softly to them that I would keep them safe.

I recalled endless summer days when my best friends and I ran wild through the neighborhood, daring each other to snatch strawberries from the grumpy old man's garden across the road, or scrambling over the fence for a forbidden dip in another neighbor's pool.

I'll admit Mommy perhaps wasn't the most exemplary role model, but it was the '90s, a different era. These kinds of memories have been buried deep, and I'm grateful to rediscover them.

We're saving money — and looking forward to spending quality time together as a family

Financially, not having to pay rent while we get on our feet and decide where to live next has been a huge help. My work wasn't affected by the interstate relocation, but my husband has had to open a new business on the Gold Coast and start again.

Living in my childhood home has eased the financial pressure of the move, allowing us to focus on other things, like helping our kids to settle at school and making new connections.

When mum and dad return from their trip, I'm also really looking forward to them having quality time with our kids. Not rushed holidays, but relaxed meals together, leisurely Sunday drives, and quality time watching footy games and gymnastics.

In the meantime, my husband and I are selling our family home in Melbourne, and might buy on the Gold Coast or in regional Victoria if we decide to head back there in a year or two.

We don't know what the future holds, so we're just taking each day as it comes. However, one thing's for sure: The experience of living in my childhood home has been overwhelmingly positive.

The other night, I couldn't sleep. Our 3-year-old woke me up, then my parents' senile Siamese cat planted himself squarely on my head at 3 a.m. After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up and crept upstairs for refuge, curling up in my old single bed.

In the darkness, I reached up to close the blinds, my hands remembering the motion, even without light. Lying there, I felt an unexpected calm and a deep, familiar sense of safety.

There's something profoundly comforting about returning to your roots, to the place you once called home, and discovering that even after all these years, it still feels that way.