Turning 30 is a milestone in any woman’s life, and it can be a source of considerable anxiety.The impending transition of your (supposedly) youthful and carefree 20’s to your more “adult” 30’s can spark an existential crisis in even the most confident and self-assured amongst us. I’ve recently found myself dwelling over the end of my “glory days“, and thinking about my childhood dreams that never quite came to fruition.
Turning 30 is one of those things that everyone has an opinion about. At sixteen, I compared it to something similar to the apocalypse – an instant death of youth, soft supple skin, and free-range irresponsibility. At twenty something, I saw it only as the next dreaded step, working tirelessly to achieve everything I told myself I would do before the third decade hits. And then you find yourself sitting on thirties’ doorstep, and wonder; How did I get here? Where are my two kids I suppose to have had? What happen to my home with the white picket fence? Why have I not won my two Oscars as yet for my role as the Bond Girl? Where did my personal trainer go to?
I don’t know if I’m the only woman facing this fear and anxiety of turning thirty.
I find myself walking and wondering who’s following me, and I suddenly realise it’s my own ass bouncing about behind me….Yeah, it turns out I’m not naturally young anymore. Grey hairs are starting to breed on my head; a new one spotted every 2 hours! Then people say things like “You look good for your age” (Who you kidding?) Getting pregnant turns from the scary thing you should never do, at any cost…..to what you must do, at any cost.
You’re aware that your metabolism is starting to slow down, very quick. Then there’s the bladder (I could use a replacement already!). And the sad realisation that by definition you are not a prodigy. You have, however, became an expert on taxes and grocery shopping on a budget.
Then there’s the “Keeping up with the 20 somethings”. Now, I’ve always loved dancing and still do, more than anything else. And yes, I might not do it as often as earlier in my life, but when I do, I think, yeah…I can still do this. But the next morning, my body looks me straight in the eye and say; “Girlfriend, please…..you’re not 20 anymore!”
This, I believe, is a quarter-life crisis. I think that the mid-life crisis gets way too much press, so no one pays attention to the quarter-life crisis. Around the age of 25, there is a moment of panic: or a prolonged moment of panic, which for me has lasted about five years and has yet to stop.