When I was a kid, I used to dream about growing up so I could do absolutely anything I wantedeat whatever took my fancy, stay up as late as I liked, go out without asking anyones permission. Now, looking back on that innocent, little version of myself, I just have to laugh. Reality smacked me right in the face the moment I started living on my own: cleaning, cooking, rent, bills, shoppingtrying to juggle it all on a salary that barely stretched far enough. I honestly thought freedom was deciding what I fancied for tea. No one told me it would mean working out whether I could actually afford both a bag of rice and a bottle of washing-up liquid.
One day, it hit me that I hadnt sat down for a proper breakfast in weeks. Every morning was a mad rushquick shower, hastily making the bed, running out to catch the bus. On the way, Id remember I hadnt replied to that work email, that the broadband needed paying before Friday, and that my debit card was already teetering near its limit. Turns out, adulthood freedom is just a never-ending to-do list, not some wished-for dream.
And by the time I finally made it home, the exhaustion crashed over me like a tonne of bricks. Opening the fridge, Id desperately hope something, anything, would just be ready to eat on its own. But of course nottime to wash, peel, cook, and then wash up again. More than once, Id settle for bread and cheese for tea, just to avoid touching the frying pan. But even then, I couldnt really relaxthe little voice in my head would whisper, reminding me about the water bill, the drip in the bathroom that needed checking, and the damp washing Id left since the morning, now smelling questionable because Id forgotten to hang it out.
My friends would say, Lets meet up soon. But whenever we tried to organise something, someone was stuck working late, another was looking after a poorly relative, someone else was skint, and someone was just plain shattered. As teenagers, we saw each other almost every day; grown up, we could go the whole month without meeting once. And when we did finally get together, all we talked about was how knackered we were, the bills we needed to pay, or how our backs ached. We were still young, but we sounded like pensioners.
Probably the hardest thing was realising theres no such thing as a real rest. Even weekends were full of chores: doing the laundry, a bit of cleaning, getting ready for the week ahead, food shopping, or fixing something broken. One Saturday, I found myself in tears while mopping the kitchen floor, thinking, Even when Im meant to be resting, Im not really resting. As a kid, I called this freedom, but what I was really doing now was everything the grown-ups had done for me back thenonly now, there was no one to help.
Work wasnt what Id imagined, either. Id convinced myself work brought a sense of achievement, but I had no idea it also meant plastering on a fake smile when all you wanted was to disappear, tolerating daft comments, chasing moving targets every single week, and watching most of your wages vanish on things you barely even notice. There was a day I actually sat and worked out if I could afford lunch, or if I should save the money for my Oyster card instead. No one tells you this bit when youre a child: that adult life is basically a never-ending set of mental calculations.
I used to think growing up meant freedom. Now I know, its more like a bizarre balancing act: endless tiredness, constant responsibilities, and occasionally, just the tiniest moment of peace.
