Things I’m Ashamed to Admit at 31
Am I just…an overgrown child? Because most days, I’m just winging it and hoping no one notices.
I can’t drive. No license. No road skills. And if I’m being honest, I’m a
littlelot scared to get behind the wheel.I stay up till 2 AM on most nights and then act shocked when I’m exhausted and playing catch up the next day. Every morning, I tell myself, “Tonight, I’ll do better.” Every night, I do not.
I care what people think. Maybe a little too much. And even though I’d love to be one of those unbothered, main-character-energy types, I let people’s opinions get to me way more than I should.
I struggle with imposter syndrome. I know I’m gifted and capable. I know I have all the skills and all the experience. Yet, I still feel like someone’s going to burst through the door one day and yell, “Aha! We knew you were faking it this whole time!”
I don’t understand 75% of the settings on my washing machine. As long as that one button cleans my clothes, we’re good.
I can’t stick to anything. I get excited (and usually spend money) on a new project, obsess over it for a while, then abandon it the second something shinier comes along. YouTube…this newsletter…UGC…business ideas…I own a graveyard of unfinished dreams. Now I’m making “Little Joys” carousels and telling myself that this is the one. But deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time.
I thought I’d be rich by now. I’ve worked most of my adult life, and I’m grateful to have enough for myself, my family and those around me. But I just thought I’d be in my millionaire self-actualization era by now. Not giving up my personal information on CouponFollow for $2 off my AliExpress cart.
I cry at the slightest inconvenience. And I still bite my nails. Sometimes out of anxiety. But most times it’s just my primitive version of self-grooming. Like a cat. Bad habit I know.
I spend way too much time on my phone. Some days up to 20 hours. I wish I could say I’m working on it, but I’d be lying. It’s so bad that I can’t have a five-minute conversation without feeling the urge to check my phone. I know I need to stop, but I don’t know how to. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself to continue enabling my dopamine addiction. Perhaps I do know how to, but I don’t want to.
I haven’t finished a book in years. This one actually makes me sad because I love reading.
I crave freedom from the 9-to-5 life, but…I don’t think I’m built for entrepreneurship. That, or I just don’t believe in myself enough to go all in and do my own thing. Either way, I’m stuck.
I have a degree in Commerce, but I’m financially illiterate. I don’t understand taxes, I have no idea how credit scores actually work, and I live in constant fear of committing accidental fraud. “Just invest your money!” With what knowledge?!
I’m 31 and still battling acne. I thought the breakouts would end with my teenage years. I was wrong. Now I’m in my thirties fighting wrinkles and acne at the same time! 😩 I’ll probably battle acne for the rest of my life, and I’m struggling to accept that reality.
Most days, I don’t feel like an adult. I thought adulthood meant having it all figured out. Turns out we’re all just good at improv. Every day, I put on my “functional adult” costume and hope that no one realizes it’s all just special effects.
I still need my parents. Emotionally, physically, in every way. And I struggle with anticipatory grief more than I’d like to admit.
My “organization system” (if any at all) is just chaos. Sometimes I make the bed, most times I don’t. Sometimes I pick an outfit based on what doesn’t need ironing. My closet is clean and organized for exactly one day after folding clothes, then it’s back to the good old “rumple and shove.”
I cringe A LOT at my past mistakes. Randomly, in the shower, at 11 pm, my brain will serve me a highlight reel of my worst moments, remastered in 4K with director’s commentary. I think about it all — the things I (should have) said, the smarter choices I could have made, the people I wronged, ghosts that will catch up with me one day…all of it. I try to shake it off, but I know life has no retakes. And I’m stuck with the blooper reel.
I am terrible at responding to messages. I read them. I think up a response. I tell myself I’ll reply in a minute. And then suddenly, it’s been two weeks, and now I look like I ghosted you on purpose. I didn’t. I just got anxious and forgot.
I’m in therapy. But sometimes I wonder if there’s even a “fix” for me.
I used to be scared of dying. Now I’m more terrified of my loved ones dying. I can’t picture a world without them in it. Life would literally stop making sense. All monochrome. I know it’s one of those inevitable things you can never really prepare for (hello again, anticipatory grief), but honestly, I don’t know if I have the emotional strength to make it through when that day comes.
So there you have it. A 31-year-old’s confessional manual for being beautifully, unapologetically broken. Proof that you can be a full-grown adult and still have the wisdom of a lost sock in a laundromat. Just coasting through life, hoping no one notices you have no idea what you’re doing.
I’m working on getting my life together…very slowly. At the speed of a website loading on a 2008 smartphone. It’s work that requires effort, and on most days I’m tired from just existing. But I’ll get there. In the meantime, at least you have a VIP front-row seat to the train wreck.
If nothing else, my list of shame proves that I have at least one thing going for me: self-awareness. Yes I am a mess. But I’m still here. A walking compilation of facepalm moments and spectacular screwups, but still here. I’ll be okay. I think. As long as no one asks me how bonds work. Or taxes. Or anything that requires a spreadsheet.
I’ve showcased my failures for your amusement and now, if you’re comfortable sharing, it’s your turn; what’s your “I should’ve figured this out by now” thing? Let’s hear it. No judgment here. There’s nothing quite as healing as a little mutual suffering!
And hey, if you ever feel like you’re barely keeping it together, congratulations and welcome aboard the ship called Adulthood: No One Knows What They’re Doing. Find your seat, grab a life vest and a drink, and let’s toast to collectively being perfectly imperfect.
Solidarity forever, my friend. Solidarity forever.