I remember feeling nervous to leave elementary school because I was afraid of getting lost or trampled in the middle school hallways; within days of being a sixth grader I fell in love with my new status as a preteen. When I graduated high school I cried for two reasons: because I was ecstatic to escape the limitations of high school and because my childhood had officially come to an end. Clearly I have always been somewhat apprehensive about getting older, yet with my 21st birthday around the corner, I am feeling more anxious about growing up than ever. While living in my own apartment, being able to vote, and having new levels of freedom are major bonuses of becoming an adult, I can’t help but reminisce on my childhood.
The hardest part by far about living away from my family is missing major milestones in their lives. Both my parents have found new jobs they love and I wish I could see them thrive up close. Similarly, I wish I could have attended my brother’s high school sporting events – like he did for me – and witness him become the young man he is now. If I feel this left out from my family now, I can’t even imagine how parents feel when their children leave the nest; I know my family also wishes they could hear about my successes at the end of every day over dinner rather than over the phone. Moving away means watering your own personal garden of accomplishments while also pushing you away from your family.
Growing up, at least in my case, has also caused a lot of regret. While I am missing out on everyday interactions and experiences with my family, at the end of the day I prefer when I am away from them. Surprisingly enough, the 20-year-old-girl who is involved in her community, has countless goals, and is successful in college is in love with her independence. There is nothing wrong with enjoying your freedom, and I try to tell myself that often, but I can’t help but wear a cloak of guilt. In my mind in order to be the perfect daughter I need to be heavily involved in my family’s lives, and when I prioritize my own passions, I can’t help but imagine them missing me and then I feel terrible. While this is an issue I have addressed multiple times with my family, so they can put less pressure on me to be present in their lives and instead put myself first, as I get older this feeling almost increases.
Similar to the feelings of guilt and distance from my family, growing up also means “home” is never the same. I warned my brother the summer he graduated high school that things were about to change forever, but I’m not sure he understands what I mean yet. The second I heard my name called over the speaker and I walked across the stage to receive my high school diploma, my whole perspective on life flipped. I knew from then on I wouldn’t think of where I slept as my room, but instead as my high school bedroom. Worst of all, when I do go home, I feel like a visitor: it isn’t mentioned enough how odd it feels to be an outsider in your own home. Of course my family and I still have a similar dynamic and love each other the same, but now my homebase is on the couch next to my roommates instead of at the dinner table with my parents and brother.
I miss being the little girl who would wake her parents up every morning to ask if I could watch “kid shows.” I wish my brother and I could spend one more night cuddled up in a pillow fort or playing Lincoln Logs on his bedroom floor. And yet when I think about my desire to be a successful fitness trainer or my love for writing, I can’t help but tear up. I want to go solo backpacking, get dressed up for job interviews, and brag about my double major, but part of me also wants to shrink so when I hug my mom I’m not taller than her. It’s hard growing up. We get to follow our dreams, be ourselves, and eat pizza whenever we want, but going home is never the same.
Somehow, I hope to find the happy medium between the little girl who would watch football on the couch with my dad and the powerful woman who aspires to work with those same athletes I once saw on TV. For now I’ll take it one day at a time and enjoy my youth while it lasts. Don’t grow up too fast, readers.