The harsh switch from childhood to adulthood

Imagine a little girl sneaking into her parents’ bathroom, rifling through her mom’s old makeup. She smears on lipstick that is too bright, sprays on a concoction of perfumes and waddles to the car for the next family function. Her sister gives a small, questioning glance. Her dad’s expression flickers between disgust at the strong scent and mild alarm at his daughter’s new look. Her mom quietly laughs and says, “You look good, sweetie, but maybe take a little bit of lipstick off.” The girl beams, blots her lips and sighs. She finally feels like a grown-up. Someone with freedom. Someone who can be whatever she wants to be.

That girl was me. 

I was always eager to grow up. Being young felt like existing in a waiting room full of people who spoke over you with rules you did not write and decisions you could not make. I hated how small my voice sounded in adult conversations, how my emotions felt provisional until some unseen authority stamped them with “valid.” Growing up seemed like the only way out, and if you reached the other side, you would be heard, respected and finally whole.

Now I am a senior in college on the cusp of whatever may come, and the shape of that little girl’s wish has shifted in ways I did not expect. Freedom is now responsibility, confidence is now doubt in disguise and being grown-up is no longer a solution but a problem. 

This is the harsh switch. 

The daydream of future freedom that children chase becomes the thing adults run from. According to the National Library of Medicine, social media has amplified body dissatisfaction that especially makes tweens feel like their awkward in-betweens are not welcome. The pressure to look, act and perform older has never been stronger. 

College is a peculiar incubator for growing up. It teaches you to be both hopeful and anxious at the same time; hopeful because you are finally able to make decisions for yourself, but anxious because those decisions are framed as determinants of life. Friends say, “find your passion,” while your parents ask for your post-graduation plans. All the while, social media floods our feeds with curated day-in-the-lives that feel out of reach, alongside cautionary tales of failures we are afraid to become. We are told these are the best years of our lives, while simultaneously being pressured to perfect an uncontrollable future. 

The bittersweetness of this shift is not merely about losing childhood; it is about losing the permission to fail and dream. As children, our mistakes were small and often forgiven by default. As adults, the margin of error shrinks. Leaving less room for the passions we picked up as kids. 

But we do not need to look at the switch as a theft, but more as a shift. Growing up does not demand that we abandon wonder; it asks us to carry it differently instead. The lipstick on my younger self’s lips does not have to be seen as a grave mistake but as an experiment of becoming. If I could hold onto that curiosity, I would allow myself small, ridiculous acts of immaturity even as I pay my credit card bills. Then adulthood stops being a list of responsibilities. 

There are practical things that can make this shift easier. 

Let boredom happen sometimes. Allow unplanned time to become an opportunity to have your own recess. Whether it is reading a book that is not assigned for class, creating a messy art project or taking a walk without headphones. Keep a habit that belongs to your younger self so you still have commitments that do not drain you. 

The little you who wanted grown-up clothes carries a seed of identity that still matters. Being an adult is not the erasure of childhood; it is the expansion of your voice into new sectors. Your career, friendships and communities now are places where your presence does not require justification. The trick is to choose which parts of childhood deserve to be kept versus left behind. 

The harsh switch will sting and there will be mornings when the future you pictured feels like someone else’s life. But there will also be those quiet evenings where you see that you are out of the waiting room and in a hallway full of doors. Having the ability to choose which one to walk through is a privilege we get to experience. 

I still try on my mom’s lipsticks as less of a costume and more as a reminder. I will spray her perfume and laugh as my dad passes by, then file away that nostalgic feeling. I am still learning how to use my childhood as a compass and not a weight holding me back. 

A month into senior year, I have had more revelations about how growing up is not a single event where I am transformed into a new person, but a series of events to make room for. 

And honestly, if all else fails, I am only 21. I can grow up when I am 30. 

• Adulthood
• childhood
• growth
• life