Adulting is quite frankly a pain in the arse.
The realisation that you just can’t throw a paddy anymore, or sulk in your room for hours on end is like a metaphorical pie in the face.
I’ve had to adult a lot this year. Not because I have two tiny terrorists (and a 42-year-old one) to keep in check but because life just got a bit shitty.
In April my mum was diagnosed with cancer of the womb which in itself was just crap. My mum was a fighter and after an operation and preventative radiotherapy she is now clear. It was a stressful time for us all and the repercussions are still cropping up. As an adult, I had to think about my mum, my dad, my own family and how best to keep on going despite fearing the worst. I hit a depressive low whilst trying to work from home with a toddler, trying to study, trying to run a household, and trying to do it all with a level of grace and dignity. When actually most days I was crying fat, ugly tears like the video selfie clips in The Blair Witch Project (think snot bubble). I wasn’t managing OK, I was really fucking struggling and the main negative result was that I failed my uni module. I felt like I had wasted an entire year, I had tried my hardest to squeeze it in; to focus on the fucking politics of the education system in Africa (why the fuck I picked this pissing module, I do not know), but it was all a waste of time. Tensions were understandably high at home as I was a complete and utter bitch to live with, but even though we’ve not said those vows to one another, I know the OH loves me despite the added pressure and strain of day-to-day life this year.
I sometimes think back to my early 20’s, when life was much simpler. Obviously less fulfilled, blah, blah, blah but much, much simpler. That overwhelming feeling of how responsible you have to be each week can be relentless. You can’t be that dickhead calling into work because you have food poisoning (a hangover), you have to go to work even if you are on your deathbed because that’s what adults do. You can’t just pop to M&S on your way home from work to get dinner, you have to plan a week’s worth of meals ahead, shop online and get it delivered after 8 at night so the little locusts don’t peck their way through it before you’ve managed to unpack it. And the thought of shopping in an actual supermarket, accompanied by the small people just makes my palms sweaty. The cost of running a house too, I mean who do I need to speak to, to complain about this shit? And being that role model to your children, the one that should be setting an example, the one that shouldn’t burst into tears in front of them as it might upset them, is often more draining than just being able to be yourself.
Priorities change, as do your energy levels. I would love nothing better than to go out with my friends like we used to. To drink stupid amounts of shots and shit wine, to dance like a loon, to grab a kebab on the way home and collapse into bed using my kebab as a pillow at 3am. Nowadays a night out costs the same as a term’s worth of gymnastic club fees, the morning wake up calls start from 6am (especially at the sodding weekend) and being self-employed I just cannot do a hangover anymore whilst “working”. And I’d be lucky to get to midnight before I find a comfy chair to sit on and kick off my shoes.
I’m 35. I still think I am young (ish) but according to the 5 year old and his mates, I am “like 100 or something”. Sob.
What’s your worst thing about adulting?
Thanks for reading
Mummy over and out