mental health

Remember Who You Are

“Adults follow paths. Children explore.”

~Neil Gaiman

When someone mentions the words “adult” or “adulthood,” how do you define them? Don’t reach for your dictionary; I’m looking for your personal thoughts on this one. What makes up the bullet points of an adult life in your world? (You don’t need to overthink this one, either. I’m not going to collect a written essay or anything)

Ready to compare answers?

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you have some variation of the following: responsibility (i.e., paying bills, maintaining a home, showing up for a job every day), respect (okay, so youngsters need to obey laws and demonstrate respect toward authority figures, but they don’t get hit with the consequences as heavily as adults), providing an example for the future generation (assuming you can pry their attention from their screen of choice), or projecting a proper image – whatever that looks like. Did I come close?

Now, obviously, there are a few numerical milestones that separate an adult and child. Legally, an adult can purchase alcohol, vote in political elections, and rent a vehicle. (If you work – even part-time – you get the joy of paying taxes. So kids get to experience that responsibility, whether they like it or not) And, eventually, adults get to retire. But that’s about it. If you strip away those defining characteristics, there isn’t anything that divides an adult from a child.

Sounds crazy, I know, but I’m going somewhere with this.

You’ll find kids out there who end up taking on responsibility at incredibly young ages. They assume the care of their siblings (or themselves). Getting whatever work they can, they take on bills and management of a household – sometimes while scrambling to get to class. It’s a rough life and worse than plenty of adults juggle on a regular basis. And (though it seems to be an infrequent thing these days) kids DO get raised with a demand to show respect to those around them. It’s a demand in certain cultures and family lines. The definitions we use to describe an adult work equally well for younger ages, if we’re willing to turn and look around.

So it goes without saying that the flip side should function, too. If youngsters can step up to the plate and exercise a healthy work ethic, why can’t WE shrug off a suit and jump into a fountain for a few minutes of play? Why do we cross some imaginary threshold and decide we’re above being a kid? Is it the peer pressure thing? Or something else? Maybe that silly “title” of adult? (As if it appears anywhere on your resume or license) I’m going to go with the fact you feel a crazy obligation to look and behave like – well, like an adult. As if anyone actually has a concrete example of what that looks like. (It’s not like you’ll find the costume for sale anywhere)

When we graduate from college (or high school or get our GED), society tells us we’re an adult. You have ZERO preparation for the real world, but you’re shoved out in the cold and told to “do some good.” You stare around at the “adults” and start imitating their behavior, assuming they know what they’re doing. (Newsflash: They have no clue) Of course, you don’t see their crippling depression, the weight of anxieties on their shoulders, or the crumbling family issues they lock behind the front door. Because they struggle to put on a stunning display of carefully kept homes, with art books on tables, conversation pieces on the walls, and furniture that prioritizes form over function. They step outside without a single hair out of place, rattle off every label on their clothing, and wouldn’t dare appear in a photo or video without makeup.

And you buy into this definition of “adult!”

I did. I struggled for years to meet that ideal. It meant waking up early to struggle with cosmetics (to this day, I barely know what I’m doing). I rolled my ankles in heels. I hid my stuffed animals and toys in a corner of the bedroom. And let’s not get started on the weird art I agreed to display on the walls. Slip up and mention I was hitting the movies to see Montsters, Inc.? Everyone looked at me like I’d suggested placing a bomb in the building. Run to the swings at the zoo playground? They asked if I needed to get some water (because, clearly, I had heat stroke). When I wore a pair of dragon earrings, I was pulled aside and asked to remove them; clients might get the wrong impression.

Over and over, the message came clear: being an adult meant a constant cycle of SHAME. At least, when I tried to be myself. And even when I “fell in line,” I received a list of improvements. Nothing remained “right” for long. Is it any wonder those years were filled with the worst of my depression? My highest anxiety? The adult world SUCKED! I couldn’t make anyone happy – least of all myself.

So I stopped trying.

I took a moment to reflect on when I’d been happier. That was easy: as a kid. When I fully embraced being myself. Those times when I threw away the cares and concerns of the world around me and did what I wanted. (Okay, so it didn’t last long in those years, but the brief moments of freedom lingered in the brain) Something in my head clicked: as an adult, no one would hold me back NOW. I could do whatever I wanted. And if I was willing to brave those tongue-clicks from my frowning peers, I had nothing left to fear.

It’s when I decided to was time to be a kid again. I stopped apologizing for ME. No more fighting to duplicate cat eyes or smoky eyes or whatever makeup trend people were espousing. I decided I liked my face without junk on it (and it meant getting to sleep later in the morning). My home underwent a purge, clearing out everything that made no sense to me. And I stopped trying to hide my stuffed animals and toys. My goofy jewelry? Yeah, it’s always going to remain my favorite. (I love that my husband tries to get me artsy stuff) And I have no problem walking up to whatever movie I want to see – or bragging about it.

When I embraced the kid I was – have always been – I took a huge breath in. It was an amazing sigh of relief. And I found this amazing gem you don’t realize exists when you’re young: you care less and less about those raised eyebrows and “for shame” remarks. Kids are bulletproof at some point in their lives. And you can tap into that, if you’re willing to abandon the regiments of being an adult. If you can laugh and play and be YOU, you can find that nugget. It means playing on the swings, dancing in public, dressing up in costumes, and laughing too loud. Which takes guts. But it’s SO worth it.

I don’t think anyone considers me a “stellar example” of an adult. My home won’t show up in any magazine features. And I’m not anyone’s model or muse. I don’t have a giant following on social media. But I also don’t care. I love the life I have. It makes me happy. And I have an outer layer of armor – courtesy of that little girl I decided I wanted to be again. It’s worth ditching the long list of bullshit I was attempting to follow before.

And, crazy as it sounds, it’s done wonders for my skin. (I’m just saying)

mental health

Living vs. Surviving

“Some things in life are like ice cream:
They’re only good for a while and then they melt.
The trick is enjoying it and making the most of it while it’s still ice cream.”

~Anonymous

Okay, I’ll start with a disclaimer: when the whole “YOLO” thing broke? I had NO idea what people were talking about. I didn’t know if it was a person, a music album, a physical place, or maybe even a book. (I admit, I probably should have figured the last was a long shot, given how little people reach for written words these past couple decades) It took weeks of seeing those four letters everywhere before I broke down and asked Google what the hell everyone was talking about. Even then, I walked around, mystified. Why was the phrase so popular all of the sudden? Sure, reincarnation features in a few religions. But, for the most part, you DO only get one life. So why was the phrase “You only live once” taking on a new revolution?

Literal thinking? It doesn’t always do you a favor.

That niggling irritation under my thoughts refused to go away. And I found myself skimming through social media posts that used the hashtag. (Note: NEVER do this – it’s a recipe for disaster, particularly when you don’t grasp the concept) Rather than finding myself inspired – as I’m sure the intent was behind the craze – I ended up disgusted and even horrified. Did none of these people have PLANS for their lives? Weren’t they thinking five years, FIVE MINUTES down the road? Considering the stupid phrase popped up among the youth the majority of the time, I wondered whether they thought of the consequences of their actions in the slightest. Or were they simply jumping on a bandwagon – one careening over a cliff…while on fire…and stocked with explosives.

I wasn’t in the same position as most of them, though. (First person to label me as “old” is getting a lecture) I’d already experienced enough of what the Real World had to offer to know better than to throw caution to the wind. Any action I undertook? They all came with hours of anxiety loops as I went through every possible outcome. I was too busy focusing on my career, the bills stacked on my dining table, and wondering if I’d fall down my stairs (don’t laugh – I’m one of the clumsiest people you’ll meet). I couldn’t abandon responsibility for even a few minutes of fun or excitement or life because I was too busy surviving.

And that’s the kicker.

Whether the person to coin the “YOLO” term had the intent (I know the groupies didn’t catch on), the idea behind it or the phrase Carpe Diem is the same: you’re supposed to LIVE. Otherwise, all you’re doing between birth and death is surviving. And while I’ll admit survival’s important (Darwin got that right), you need a stronger goal. We don’t exist in horror or action movies. We get to have more options that making it from Point A to Point B. And it took me FOREVER to figure that out. Actually, I’m still working on getting that concept through my brain.

I’ve passed up more opportunities than I can count because I allowed my anxiety and sense of responsibility to get in the way. Sitting down with a piece of paper, writing out pros and cons, I’ve actually held an internal debate on the merits of buying an article of clothing. And I’m not talking something a I needed (though I’ve done that, too – never mind that every pair of jeans in my dresser didn’t fit); this is a dress or skirt I fell in love with and WANTED but didn’t NEED. My survival instincts kicked in and informed that, as the skirt couldn’t get me through the Apocalypse, there was no point to adding it to my cart. Meanwhile, the tiny voice in the back of my head, begging me to live a little, screamed at me to have a little fun, live a little, and reminded me that zombies aren’t real. But survival won out in the end. Over and over, my need to make it to the grave as a rational, responsible adult took precedence.

Because, you know, they have an entrance exam when you die.

Instead of living my life, I’ve survived it – and not always well. I mean, I’ve never gone to jail, never skipped out on my taxes, and never been implicated in a major act of treason, so I figure I’ve covered the basics. But checking off some of items on my bucket list? That’s fallen into a heavy pile of dust. And not for a lack of opportunity. I turned away from my chances, arguing that I needed to use my time or money for more reasonable options. And some things? They only come around ONCE. Kind of like living. (Ironic, no?)

Trying to get past your screaming anxiety is a major battle. Then you have to fight the responsibility drilled into you from birth. (Side note: being the oldest child SUCKS) It leaves you exhausted, battered, and bruised on the other side most of the time. And you’re usually shaking like a chihuahua when you finally step up to the edge. But when you take that final leap? It feels amazing! You inhale this huge breath of LIFE. Energy rushes through your veins and zaps into your brain. It doesn’t matter how old (or young) you are. You bounce around with the enthusiasm of a five year old. And suddenly? All of those doubts in your mind go quiet.

Well, at least until you find yourself with the next opportunity.

I’m still working on this whole “YOLO” thing, trying to find the proper balance between life and survival. Because I don’t want to sacrifice having a LIFE. And I’m tired of missing out on fun and laughter and enjoyment. I spent over 30 years practicing responsibility. Yippee. You don’t get anything to show for that. No one appears out of the mist to hand you a shiny diploma for “accomplished adulthood.” There’s no special identification card. But the regret? That weighs a TON. And it bends your mind as much as your shoulders.

At the same time, you can’t go insane. Throwing complete caution to the wind is going to compromise the survival part of the equation. And if you don’t allow anxiety and responsibility SOME voice, that cliff with the bandwagon? Yeah, you’re getting a seat in the front row. It’s a careful learning experience. You want to give EVERYONE a chance to speak up – in moderation. And it means learning to ask yourself the right questions. Not, “Am I being frivolous?” (Obviously, you are – that’s how living works) But “Will I regret passing this up?”

When you start learning the feel of those LIFE moments? You can pick them out. And then you can turn to your anxious side and lay out counterarguments. That usually calms down your responsible side (since you clearly thought things through). And the result? A life experience you’ll get to look back on in your final moments.

Sure beats closing your eyes and thinking, “Well, I paid my bills on time.”