Grown Up

By Erin Deborah Waks

One day you’re begging your mum for an extra sweet out of the packet, sobbing hysterically as you haven’t been allowed to sleep over at your friend’s house on a school night, throwing a tantrum because you’ve been forced, military-style, to eat the revolting meatloaf and broccoli on your plate; the next you’re on your own in your big-girl apartment, a stack of bills to pay and the Sezane website open in front of you, trying to decide which is more important, along with seventeen coffee cups and half a pack of digestives for dinner. What on earth happened?

I’m not sure I recall, or can identify, the moment I truly felt like a ‘Grown Up.’ When I was younger, I always assumed there would come a day when I’d decide to wear the ‘adult’ high heels I love without looking like an overdressed child, be in an ‘adult’ relationship, have an ‘adult’ job and an ‘adult’ apartment. I guess it just doesn’t really happen like that. 

Nothing changes overnight. But slowly, over time, you start to question more and more the things you couldn’t do when you were ‘young’. Why, for instance, is there a bedtime? Why can’t I do things on a schoolnight? Why do I have to eat my greens? Can’t I just have cake whenever I want? What about going on holiday without my parents? Quitting hobbies I hate (like those horrific swimming lessons we all endured, or ballet classes with fatphobic teachers)? Wearing outfits that would have elicited the response, ‘This isn’t a fashion show, you know?’

I loved - love - being a Grown Up far more than I ever liked being a kid. I always knew I would. 

My parents joke that I used to love playing ‘adult’ from day dot. I’d look after my younger brothers like a parent and talk to adults as though I was one of them. Doing adult things works for me. I ‘adult’ quite well - I love stimulating conversation and dinner parties, am good at general life admin, always pay my bills and rent on time, look after my physical health well, maintain hobbies and friendships without my mum coordinating them for me, cook pretty decently, handle money like any overly cautious oldest daughter and am pretty damn independent. 

But you’ve got to maintain a sense of the fun, the carefree, that reigned supreme in childhood - or things get too heavy. Your inner child, I guess. 

Old Disney movies, noughties romcoms, eating ice cream out of the tub, birthday cake when it’s nobody’s birthday, dancing to Taylor Swift in the living room, going to the supermarket late at night just because you can, staying up past midnight, sleepovers, fashion shows, breakfast dates with your best friend (and cinnamon rolls) before work and laughing way too loud in public. 

Put blue food dye in your cookies and build a fort in the living room. Otherwise this whole Grown Up nonsense gets just a bit too much.