I think maybe the best new analogy I have found for what it is like to visit my parents’ house is that it is like being in a zoo. Not visiting a zoo. Being on exhibit. Privacy varies between conditional and non-existent. My appearance is scrutinized in case it happens to be cute or weird or even characteristic of my species. The environment somewhat resembles my natural habitat, except that it’s a lot smaller and I don’t get to choose my own diet or enrichment activities.
That makes it sound totally unpleasant, which is where the analogy breaks down. I love my parents and I enjoy my visits with them. It’s just not my natural habitat anymore.