I had a birthday yesterday. I was not particularly excited for this one. Granted, thanks to a certain little boy the last birthday I really remember celebrating was three years ago I’m having a little trouble accepting what my age is.
Anyone older than that is now rolling their eyes, but yeah 30 is kind of hitting me over the head.
When I was pregnant with Henry I struggled with many per-conceived ideas about where I was supposed to be in my life and reaching 30 drags up a lot of those thoughts for me.
Shouldn’t I have a career from my college degree?
Shouldn’t I have a bigger home?
Shouldn’t I have more payed off on those loans?
Shouldn’t I have more kids by now?
Shouldn’t I have more accomplishments and fewer failures?
Needless to say I used to, and still have, many ideas of what 30 was supposed to look like in my life and that picture has drastically changed in the last few years.
But then I realize that I’ve spent way too much of the last 30 years worried about what others thought about me and how my life is supposed to look. I spent most of my 20’s not having a clue who I was as a person.
So here’s to my 30’s.
I know that by the time I leave my 30’s behind I’ll have become a richer person in so many ways and I’m looking forward to living that to the fullest.
So here’s to accepting 30.