thirty, flirty and thriving
I turn 30 this year and I have NOT been okay about it for a long time. I think its the first milestone I’ve really dreaded.
I was so excited to turn 18, as an August birthday I was fed up after a year of 18th parties and fake ID dramas.
And then when 21 came long, I felt ready, hoping it would be an age that people might start taking me a bit more seriously. I left school and started working straight away and so felt old before my time and like my lifestyle didn’t sit right with being 19 or 20.
Even 25, a quarter of a century, I was happy with. But 30. THIRTY. It’s taken a lot of getting used to.
I’ve adored my twenties. I met Henry, moved house, went to drama school, got married, started a career, moved city, started a different career, travelled and had 2 babies.
But it’s not really about what I’ve achieved or (mostly) not achieved that’s been playing on my mind. It’s just the speed. The absolute, terrifying speed that life takes.
I moved to London straight out of school at 18 and started nannying for a couple with a baby. They were 30, with a mortgage, a baby and another on the way and I thought they were SO OLD. Like -we will never socialise outside of my job- kinda old.
And now, that’s me. I’m the mum, in her SUV, giving babysitters a lift back to their student accommodation, clearing the passenger seat of discarded Pom bear packets and squashed raisins so she doesn’t have to squeeze into the back between two car seats and turning on the ignition to be met with the Moana soundtrack playing full volume. When did that happen? I still sometimes forget to put my pants on the right way round, but somehow I’m the adult in the situation.
But, if there’s one positive that comes with approaching the big Three-OH. And I’m sure there’s more than one positive (please tell me there’s more than one positive 😉 ) It’s that I really don’t give a flying rat’s behind what people think about me anymore. Okay so maybe 100% of the time, that’s true 80% of the time.
Oh the hours, weeks, YEARS spent worrying about how I looked, how I came across, how big my hands were. (Who has time to worry about the size of their hands?!)
I’m not sure how, but if there’s one thing I do as parent moving forward, it’s going to be to instil in my babies -until I’m blue in the face- that They. Are. Enough.
In fact, scratch that, they are so much more than enough. They are perfectly, wonderfully, them. Only them. And there’s no on else out there as good as being them as they are.
I’m tall, I have big hands, big feet and naturally frizzy hair. My nostrils flare when I laugh, I often talk too loud and laugh too hard.
But, as if by magic, maybe its since becoming a parent, over the last year or so my worries have slowly started drifting away. I think in reality, I just don’t have the time. When a naturally completely disorganised human is trying to keep two very dependent tiny humans alive worries about anything else suddenly seem insignificant.
Thoughts about my posture and how I’m standing fall to the wayside as I try and remember who’s been fed and cleaned and WHEREDIDILEAVETHECARKEYS.
And I think I’m starting to see myself through their eyes. They don’t wince when they see me make up free and frizzy haired in the morning. They don’t care what I’m wearing. They didn’t even notice last week when I came home from the dentist with half of my face completely numb and lifeless. Thinking about it now, maybe actually they don’t notice enough. hmm.
They care that I’m present, that I engage. I am so much more to them than what I look like, how I dress, how I speak, what I weigh. I want the next 10 years (and beyond) to be about enjoying every moment with my babies, to enjoy work, to enjoy my friends, to enjoy going out, to enjoy what I enjoy but with out the worry. Without wondering if what I'm doing is right . If it fits with what people expect of me, or in reality what I think people expect of me.
I wrote on instagram a few weeks about my dread at turning 30, I was *partly* joking but I got some very sobering replies from people reminding me of the total gift that life is. Stories of friends or family gone too soon, of illnesses tackled and overcome.
It’s a mindset shift that I’ve needed to address. Not focussing on time passing but being grateful for the time I’ve had and will have. I want to soak up my life with every last ounce of energy that I have. And so I’m on a mission to not waste energy on the bits that aren’t waste-worthy.
It’s a journey but I’m starting to define myself differently because really you gotta practice what you preach. And if I want it for them, I've got to want it for me first.
Big love x