Changing family landscape: How adult children living with parents looks like in Bangladesh

After her husband's death, life became difficult for Monowara Begum. She has seven people living under her roof, including her eldest son with his wife and child, a daughter who returned after a divorce, and a younger son still in college.

Now 55, Monowara did not expect life to be like this, despite what looks like a happy family.

In the kitchen, there are two shopping bags—one belongs to her, the other to her eldest son. They live in the same house, walk the same corridors, and use the same stove, but they shop separately, cook separately, and eat separately.

After her husband died, her son did not find a job for a long time. During that period, her daughter stepped in, took on responsibilities. The son eventually got a decent job, got married, had a baby, and stayed. 

But the "togetherness" Monowara imagined never arrived. Instead, the house became a series of arguments and cold negotiations over chores and boundaries. 

"When my son returned home, though he was unemployed at the time, I was really happy, thinking we would stay together," she said. "Now the situation is so bad that I feel staying separately would have been better than this."

The daughter's return after divorce only complicated matters further. In Bangladesh, it is still treated as a taboo. 

"My daughter has a job and she supports me a lot," Monowara said. "But still nobody wants a daughter to return after marriage. It is seen as a disgrace here. Neighbours talk behind my back." 

In cities like London or New York, adult children staying with parents are called "full nesters," often framed as a consequence of rising costs and shrinking opportunities. In Bangladesh, a full house has never needed a label. It has always been the default. Leaving home at 18 is not a rite of passage here. Staying is. Leaving, especially without marriage, is often read as defiance, necessity, or failure, but rarely as choice.

Yet the old arrangement is slowly shifting. 

For the past two years, Tajnahar Begum has been living alone. Her husband works in another city, her daughter is married, and her eldest son lives separately with his wife, while the youngest left home for his studies. Now she cooks only for herself, keeps pigeons and birds, and spends her days talking to her children over the phone.

"I respect and understand my children's privacy," she said. "Of course I would love to live with them, but they are all staying in Dhaka, and I don't like that city." Her husband wanted her to move there but she refused. "Maybe someday I will go, when I can no longer manage on my own." 

In cities like London or New York, adults living with parents are called "full nesters," seen as a result of rising costs. In Bangladesh, it needs no label. Staying home is the norm, not leaving. Moving out—especially without marriage—is rarely a choice; it is seen as necessity, defiance, or failure.

A few months ago, her eldest son had a baby. His wife and newborn came to stay with her for a while, because managing a newborn alone was difficult. 

"I am grateful to Allah for having my grandson," she said. "Now that they are staying with me, my days are spent with the baby." She knows they will leave soon. "When they are not at home, I feel lonely most of the time. But I am happy knowing that my children are happy."

For Chaity, staying within a family structure has brought a different kind of relief. At 25, she spent her entire life in her parents' home under heavy restrictions. After marriage, she moved into her husband's family house. Surprisingly, she says, life became easier.

"Here I am treated as an adult, as an individual. My opinion is respected," she said. "Everyone is really caring towards me." She does not have to constantly think about food or household responsibilities, things she believes would have been much harder if they had started a separate family immediately. 

Economic stability matters, but for her, comfort and predictability matter more.

"It's not that my husband and I cannot bear the cost of living separately," she said. "But it would not have been this smooth, since I never lived on my own." 

That smoothness comes with adjustments. She shares a room, which means she cannot keep the lights on late at night when studying. "I have to adjust using a table lamp or shifting to another room," she said. 

About freedom, "I am better off now than before, though at times I am unable to vent out when I feel overwhelmed emotionally." She paused. "To get something, sometimes we have to compromise a few things. And I chose my comfort and sanity over extreme freedom." 

Not everyone makes that choice. Mishkat lived with her parents for 25 years before getting married and starting a separate family. For her, independence was non-negotiable. 

"When I was with my parents, what to wear, what to eat, when to return home, everything was decided," she said. "Now I can decide on my own and live my life my way."

Freedom, however, arrived with bills. The standard of living she had grown up with was no longer with her. "It's like overnight I became an organised and responsible person," she said, smiling. "I mean, I had to." Her days are long — work, cooking, cleaning. "After I return home, either I am cleaning the floor or the dishes. And that's how the whole day is gone." 

She and her husband share responsibilities, but starting a family, she admits, demands constant effort.

Irtiza left Dhaka five years ago for her studies. Before returning, she got married. When she came back, she moved into her husband's family home. Adjusting was difficult at first.

"My husband's upbringing and family norms are quite different from mine," she said. "But I am grateful that they accepted and welcomed me so well." 

She completed her master's degree while living there and now works full-time. The support from her mother-in-law, she said, made a significant difference.

"While juggling a full-time job and not being established career-wise, it feels like a blessing," she said. "I don't have to deal with so many responsibilities that could easily hamper my career, at least for now."

She admits it is practically beneficial as well. "We don't have the capacity to buy a house of our own," she said. "Here we don't have to pay rent. From a practical point of view, it makes sense." 

In the end, tradition remains the primary anchor; in Bangladesh, you don't leave the house just because you've reached a certain age. But how that tradition actually feels depends heavily on class and a person's own threshold for interference. 

For the urban middle class, the "full nest" is often a tactical move to protect a career—trading privacy for a hot meal and the ability to save a salary that would otherwise vanish into a landlord's pocket. The conflict usually depends on what a person is willing to swallow. Some find the trade-off easy, while others find the emotional cost of being supervised at thirty too high to pay.