Adulting

I don’t think I’m ready to be an adult. Is anyone?

I’m currently going through the processes of hitting another adult ‘milestone’. The kind that brings me out in a sweat at 2am when I can’t sleep, and the sort that makes me have a minor breakdown because like many others, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Both of those happened this weekend all because I procrastinated filling out some important forms … the kind that adults have to fill out. You see, I don’t classify myself as an adult, not immediately anyway. Sure, I’m independent enough and even though I’m 25, I still feel 16 at heart.

This procrastination was silly really, because it wasn’t too bad after all. But I was absolutely terrified of fucking it all up (I don’t mean the form because that’s what Tippex is for, but at being an adult).

I have a solicitor now. Yes sure, she seems lovely enough, but a solicitor? Me? Gawd. A column labelled “Legal Fees” has been added to my budgeting spreadsheet, and if this doesn’t scream adulting then I don’t know what does.

Because shit just got real.

I’ve been very tight-lipped about what’s going on in my personal life to my friends and family because I’m a pretty private person, plus being bombarded left, right and centre about it isn’t going to help with waking up in a sweat at 2am. (I learnt that the hard way when I was learning to drive). But it also means in those moments of Oh my god, do I even know what I’m doing? I’m in such a stress I can’t turn to the usual suspects, the ones who really get me.

Is adulthood like being a Scout or Brownie where we get a metaphorical badge that validates our existence or status as an adult? Because sometimes, I just want to be a child again.

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