Many 33-year-old women have husbands, children and/or career-related passions that give them a sense of identity. When wrapped up in parenting or throwing oneself into a stressful, all-consuming career, there is little time to worry about yourself – which, more often than not, I think is relatively healthy. Being busy leaves less time for ruminating about first world problems, dwelling on the past and watching life pass you by without feeling like an active participant.
I, on the other hand, fit none of those categories. I work multiple jobs, which keeps me occupied and allows me to support myself, but I’ve never seen myself as a “career woman.” I have no children, no semblance of a romantic relationship to even turn into marriage anytime soon and still have a miniature heart attack each time I remember I am indeed 33 and not 25. I feel 25. My college-aged coworkers invite me to hang out with them and talk to me as if I am one of their peers. I stay up to date on social media trends, apparently look “young” enough for people I meet to constantly feel comfortable tactlessly asking my age and I still have many of the same interests I did in my 20s. So, what exactly am I doing and how much longer is this going to last?
Women don‘t speak up enough about the crushing societal pressure that others in my position feel in their 30s. In fact, I had a moment of denial just the other day when I had to pull over while driving and ask ChatGPT to calculate what age I was turning next year because my brain tried to convince me I was actually still 32 for my sanity.
Feeling stuck between young adulthood and middle-aged adulthood isn’t the worst purgatory, but the daily mental gymnastics my brain undergoes to remind myself not to get too comfortable and to not present myself as someone who has forgotten that they are no longer 21 gets tiring. At what point do I ditch the ripped jeans and bodysuits and start shopping exclusively at L.L.Bean? If I decide to cut my hair short now, will I ever be able to grow it long again before I start to go gray? When am I going to wake up one morning and have significant wrinkles? When do I have to start worrying about my cholesterol? Cancer is becoming more of a tangible concern at this age. On what day will I suddenly become invisible to men on the street? Has this already happened and I’m (yet again) in denial? Am I just exceptionally immature or emotionally stunted for my age, or is how I feel completely normal?
A lot of my concerns seem vain, and it’s because they are. In my defense, I’m not vain in an “I think I’m as beautiful as Megan Fox” kind of way – in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Sadly, we live in a society and social media age where looks matter more than we’d like to admit. As someone who’s biggest priority in life is falling in love, anxiously awaiting the day my skin no longer looks youthful and dewy feels like I’m rotting away on death row (dramatic, I know). I realized recently that I had internalized this pressure to maintain my youth to the extent that I wasn’t even offended when a passerby kindly informed me that a man was secretly (and creepily) filming me on the sidewalk while I was washing the front windows of the restaurant where I work. I wasn’t offended – instead, I was deeply flattered. My first thought, while comical, was sadly, enjoy this while it lasts, while the passerby’s reaction to the man filming me was rightful disgust and concern. Where did I pick up these harmful subconscious beliefs about my value? How do I debunk them as soon as possible and learn to separate my value from my ability (or lack thereof) to attract a mate who doesn’t belong in prison?
Vanity aside, pondering mortality can be humbling, and your 30s are when you begin to truly realize that you don’t have endless time. Health is not to be taken for granted, nor are quality relationships. If you’re someone who truly desires children and starting a family, it’s time to devote your actions to finding a suitable partner. If your goal is financial stability and success, now is the time to make big career moves and take your 401K more seriously. Do I want to spend this $12 on yet another glass of wine that is going to dehydrate my skin and add toxins to my aging body in a bar on a Saturday night where I’m not going to find the love of my life, or do I want to save this $12 for a coffee before a wholesome church service on Sunday morning? In my experience, my 30s have been a psychological kick-in-the-rear thus far. However, sometimes being shaken up is just the remedy to stagnation. Maybe I’m closer to a breakthrough than my anxiety thinks.
