If you're regularly asking “should I move out?”, chances are your life will improve significantly after doing so. I've convinced myself for years that it wasn't worth it, but living alone has been nothing but nourishing.
Some way or another, significant recurring frustrations brought forth the question. Don't try to downplay them. If it got to this point it means it's already limiting your growth and you realize something needs to be done. Perhaps a partner/parent shows any of the following symptoms:
Despite struggling with a permutation of the above, for years I've tried to convince myself that self-sufficiency to the extent of living alone wasn't worth it because I will just “lose” money to an undeserving landlord. Instead I was losing mental health which is worth indefinitely more than cash; a seed is wasted in infertile ground. Shriveling, I roamed the Web to justify my complacency by seeking confirmation to questions along the lines of “is it okay to still live with my parents at age n?”
No, it's not okay. Mixing old iron with oxygen begets rust. By living with my parents for so long I couldn't invite anyone to my house—read: my room, I couldn't wake up whenever, I couldn't properly work on projects, I couldn't love my parents' good qualities, and most painfully, I couldn't confidently talk to women.
—Image: “giant dandelion in desert”, rendered with Stable Diffusion web UI. 
Obviously my parents were not all bad nor malicious, it's just that living with them for so long takes its toll and puts stress on all the involved parties due to us being almost completely incompatible. It was doomed to fail. However, counter intuitively, no matter how obvious it seems to move out, having a narcissistic parent fosters qualities such as a lack of confidence which ultimately makes one less likely to take initiative. As a teenager I felt more independent than in my twenties. And the longer I stayed the more dependent on validation I became. Even though I realized I shouldn't care, parents just have a way of getting to you.
Like a dandelion seed flying to greener pastures, as soon as I moved out I felt liberated. Paying rent became irrelevant because “fuck yeah,” I had my own place. After about ten months living in a one-room student room I moved again into an actual house which I now call home. I pay 3.32 times the rent but have been loving it that much more and then some. To this day I've never looked back nor regretted it. Not even slightly.
I walk around naked whenever. I wake up and exercise wherever. I play music forever. Living alone has truly surpassed all my expectations. So far, the only irksome thing about renting is being dependent on a landlord if things don't work as they're supposed to. But, double-edged sword, they're obligated to fix it, which is one less worry or time sink if they actually do.
Having mentioned the lack of confidence with women, particularly in my late twenties, I need to stress the potential significance of living alone. Within 24 hours after being handed my keys I already had a fantastic evening with a fantastic gal whom I just met in a nearby park. From the age of eighteen until now I haven't been able to so confidently say “Let's meet at my place.” Jolly good times, happiness works best when shared.
Most surprisingly and maybe best of all, for the first time ever I'm experiencing what it feels like to actually love your job and the people you work with. I could never believe others who claimed to be feeling that way. Having gone through this makes me even more convinced about the necessity of reshaping society so everyone could be as privileged, i.e., taxing the rich.
All things said and done, I cannot exclude luck from the equation. The reason for the big second move is a new job in a new city—Brussels, the capital of Belgium and Europe—privileged to work for one of my dream employers. The cherry on top is living in one of the nicer municipalities. Evidently this made the move effortless even though all throughout my life I've never entertained, hated even, the thought of living in Brussels.
Would I have been as enthusiastic about paying rent and leaving friends behind if I didn't love my job? I don't know. What I do know is that a job must massively suck to outweigh the benefits of living alone.
Reply with [matrix].