Turning 30 is THE WORST

Today I say a fond farewell to my twenties. I’ve come across a lot of posts about turning 30 over the past few years, most of them saccharine, trumpet-blowing articles about how you’re more ‘together’ etc, bleurgh.

So here’s the truth, turning 30 is shit. Why? Because being in your twenties is the absolute. I started off my twenties at university, the only time in my life where I’ve been truly irresponsible. Today I look back with a tear at those spectacular drunken nights and terrible choices. I was a beautiful disaster. I want to be one again but heartburn and a mortgage have ruined that for me.

My mid twenties were all about trying to figure out ‘what the hell’. When I was a youngster I imagined I would grow up to be a lawyer (I watched a lot of Ally McBeal), failing to realise that I’m not at all academic. In my early teens I went over the other side of the optimistic spectrum and thought I’d be an actress. Hormones are the worst. Then I studied politics. I think I thought I’d and up some amazing businesswoman and politics was a good and serious starting point. Again, not academic, I was still not getting it. Clearly I had an over-inflated view of myself. By my mid-twenties I went back to university and studied for an MA in creative advertising, realised I couldn’t stand the advertising world and then decided all I wanted was to be a writer. 😂

I hope that emoji shows up for all of you.

I went from lawyer to actress to businesswoman to writer. I think the first three options would have been more achievable. So, mid-twenties was my ‘find my dream (vom)’ phase.

My late twenties was spent realising that I had the worst dream ever. I went from overly optimistic ‘my debut novel will enter a bidding war with publishers’ to ‘sheeeeeeeeeeit’. It was at that point that the big 3-0 started to seem far too close. Jules and I realised that it was crunch time, we needed to reach some kind of milestone by 30 seeing as our careers were looking (sorry Jules, this is ‘at the time’) totally pathetic. So, we bought a flat, and thank Santander we did because right now, lying in bed, it’s the only thing stopping me drowning myself in raw cake mix and enduring two days of salmonella poisoning.

Everyone seems to think society puts pressure on us to be something by the time we’re 30. Well, so they bloody well should. I mean, we’ve had 30 years to get our crap holes of a life in order, we need to have achieved something. A lot of my friends who are fast approaching, or reached, this colossally painful milestone are pretty together – good job, good home, good husband, good baby. Some people are just better at maturing. And it’s not like I’ve been partying hard and that’s why my writing career is still a spectre (the heartburn remember, oh lord, am I actually 40?), it’s just the most ridiculous thing to want to be. Instead I work as an office assistant…

The big question is, am I more together? Well, yeah… Kinda. I mean, I’m unashamedly myself, as in peer pressure can go fudge itself, I will stick to my own beliefs etc, blah blah blah. But I kinda had that nailed by 28, possibly because of my stubborn nature. But then again, no. I still cry about stupid stuff, mainly when I’m tired or hungry. I still require a lot of attention to feel content. I still need my parents to spend the day with me today because inside I’m twelve and need to see them on my birthday. I still need my parents’ approval. But mostly, I still have no idea what I’m doing.

Examples:
– I love my privacy and yet I write a blog. Super contradictory. This post for example.
– I don’t like Twitter but use it.
– Sometimes I just watch TV all day when I’m meant to be writing, you know, following my dream.
– I don’t look anything like 30 year old celebs, they are totally ruining 30 for me.
– I don’t swan around in beautiful clothes looking together, most of the time I dress like it’s laundry day.
– I think about having kids but at the same time the idea of having to be so completely selfless is horrifying.
– I’m scared of driving, even though I have my license.
– I lack motivation, even though I am well aware that I’m getting older.
– I can’t shut our windows, seriously, I’m 30 and I can’t shut a bloody window. Do you push the button in? Do you turn the key? I DON’T KNOW.

At 6am, before Jules left for work, he told me that he felt like total and utter shit when be turned 30 and then he left me alone for the day. So, I’ve started my 30s pretty pissed off with him because of that and because I’m still awake (mostly because I now have to wait until 11pm to open my present from him).

Are their any positives you desperate 29 year olds ask? Yes, one. I’m more charitable. I actually care more. I’m nicer. I’m still a heavy-duty cynic, those tw*ts out there will still get a dose of my BRF but I’ve realised that I like being nice. I like giving a fudge stick. Maybe it’s because I read the news or the world has become a worse place but I want to help. I want to support. I wasn’t a terrible person before, I did care but I care more now.

So yeah, getting to 30 is total balls and I’m going to wallow today, mostly with cake in my mouth. But, on a positive note, at least I have evidence of my BRF from when I was younger. See, it’s totally a condition from birth.

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