My 20s were hard… and that’s okay.

I'll Fly Away,
Rudy Francisco

“Most of what I know
I've learned from falling,
from placing the brighter side
of my hands against the earth
and pressing until vertical.
The ground has taught me
more about flight
than the sky ever could.”

I turned 30 on the 12th of June.

It got me reflecting on the last 10 years and everything that has unfolded in the decade.

To be completely honest, my twenties felt hard...

I remember moments when simply getting through the day felt gruelling.

I questioned regularly why I felt things so deeply compared to other people and that made me feel quite alone at times.

I remember thinking to myself in some of those darker moments:

"Okay, if I put my head down, achieve something, and make something of myself, maybe these feelings will finally go away."

So off I went to the the gym, to loose weight, to university to get a degree, to another job, to a boy, to a boyfriend.

I was convinced that one of these things would finally be the answer.

Until they weren't.

Because when these milestones happened, they didn't really fix what I was feeling on the inside.

I still felt empty.

As I got older, I had more experiences that led me to many rock bottoms and, ah boy, they were painful.

I spent years battling the fear of making the wrong decision, until eventually the decisions themselves became paralysing.

I spent countless hours replaying moments in my head, convinced I'd said the wrong thing or replaying mistakes.

I remember working a job where many of the girls came from Adelaide's more affluent suburbs. I would look at them, girls who had grown up with wealth, families who seemed to laugh together and genuinely enjoy each other's company (or at least that's what I imagined), with dads who weren't angry, and mothers who weren't frozen, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of greif that life felt so much more easier for them.

I battled body image for years, the constant need to lose weight, and at times choosing weight loss at my own detriment. I convinced myself that being skinny would finally fix these feelings.

I also discovered the world of boys and dating for the first time, outside the religious confines of the church.

Then, I had countless experiences where my sense of safety, was jeopardised… repeatedly.

I felt trapped. Restless.
Unsure how to break free.

Beneath all of it was this constant, crippling imposter syndrome, the fear that people would eventually realise I wasn't good enough. That one day they would find me out

I entered relationship with someone who felt like the first person to truly see me and understand some of these parts of myself I locked away.

I left, realising the relationship carried many hallmarks of coercion and control.

Which led to a lot of support from DV services to get back on track again.

Another rock bottom moment.

A lot happened in this decade.

I was thinking about whether I take any of it back, knowing where it led me to where I am now?

Truthfully, I don’t really have an answer to that.

Do I wish things had felt easier?
Yeah. I actually do.

Do I wish I had more guidance?
Yeah. I actually do.

Do I wish I didn’t have to learn so many things the hard way?
Yea, I actually do.

I began writing this thinking I’d have some profound advice to give my 20-year-old self.
But I don’t. I just want to validate the reality of the depth of her feelings instead.

I’d just sit beside her, hold her hand and say.

“I know things feel hard right now. Because they are. I know you’re tired of it. But hang in there. I see it for what it is.

Because eventually, things do soften.

It does get better. And you find a strength. That I don’t believe many people find.

Not because bad things stop happening. Or the world stops having issues. Or people miraclously change.

But because you don’t let them harden you. You find ways to hold yourself through them when the waves are crashing down around you.

You chose softness and kindness for yourself, instead of projecting harshness and cruelty onto others, even when things are falling apart.

You enter therapy. You find awareness. You don’t re-enact what happened to you to others.

You smarten up, you learn to read people and trust those instincts rather than gaslighting yourself out them, and begin to proritise your sense of safety and peace, even if other’s dont get it.

You begin to slowly stop choosing the men that hurt you.

You outsmart a lot of narcistic souls in ways they will never comprehend. You begin to support others breaking free from these cycles too. You find ways to make purpose out of your pain.

It’s painful, it’s grueling, it’s not fun… nor fair.

But this does gives you a wisdom and self-trust, well beyond your years.

Hang in there xx ”