I celebrated my 37th birthday this past January, a milestone that has made me reflect on my own journey into adulthood. I can vividly recall the image of my mother at this very age. We were strolling down the street, her pushing my younger sister in a stroller while I trailed behind. Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked her how old she was. She turned, her dark hair dancing in the breeze as she replied, “Thirty-seven.”
To my young mind, thirty-seven represented the epitome of being a grown-up. I watched her hurry along, her blue dress and bare legs a blur as she grasped my arm to guide me across the street. My mother was navigating the challenges of single parenthood, having separated from my father shortly after my sister was born. I absorbed the stress of that time, but in that moment, I didn’t see the burdens—just her essence: a beautiful, strong, imperfect woman, wholly herself and not just my mom.
The years between 37 and the time she began to change her appearance seem like a blur to me. Now, I find myself in that very same position. Each morning, I notice the wrinkles that have crept onto my face, and as I pull my dark hair into a ponytail, silver strands reveal themselves as if they had been waiting for this very moment.
But it’s not just the physical signs of aging that strike me. It’s the realization that, despite any expectations I held, this is my life now. I am a grown-up. I have two lively sons, a compassionate partner, a rented duplex, and a trusty 14-year-old Honda. Oh, and let’s not forget Reddy, our fish.
Reflecting on my childhood fears, many of those once-unimaginable milestones—sex, marriage, childbirth, and raising little ones—have come to fruition. Yet, I know there are still daunting transitions ahead. The thought of my boys becoming teenagers or eventually leaving home is beyond my comprehension. I’ve heard the warnings about menopause, and while mammograms don’t scare me, I admit to an irrational fear of my first colonoscopy.
And then there’s the inevitable reality of losing my parents. I can hardly bear to think about it, let alone prepare for that heart-wrenching moment. I’m hopeful that I have many years ahead before I face that reality, ideally after my children are grown. They provide me with guidance and support that I desperately need.
But ultimately, I recognize that I have no control over the timeline of life. I know people lose their parents far sooner than they expect, and it’s a reality that no one is ever truly ready for.
So here I am, living my life with my kids, my partner, and Reddy. I find comfort in my daily routines—my smartphone addiction, my secret stash of chocolate on the top shelf, and my running shoes that are finally getting dusted off as spring approaches. As I gear up to start running again, my mantra echoes in my mind: “I can do this. I can do this life.”
One of the most significant changes I’ve experienced in my late thirties is a growing ability to confront and manage the anxiety that has accompanied me since childhood—if not outright dismiss it. My anxiety has fluctuated over the years, peaking at various stages of my life, often casting a shadow of impermanence over my joys. I’ve spent much of my adulthood in disbelief, wondering if the blessings I’ve received—a loving marriage, my children—are truly mine to keep.
Being the child of divorce, it’s been challenging to trust that nothing will disrupt the wonderful family life I’ve built. Yet, I’ve learned coping strategies: I meditate, I breathe, and, most importantly, the passage of time has allowed me to let go of fear and embrace my life as it is.
I often ponder how my children perceive me at 37. Do they catch glimpses of me as I once did of my mother? Do they see me squinting against the winter sun on our walks to school? Do they understand the depth of my love as I hold their hands, while simultaneously letting them venture out into the world?
When I was younger, I eagerly looked forward to adulthood, and now I understand why. They say there’s no going back once you reach a certain age, and that thought brings me solace. I’m ready to shed the weight of my past.
I am here, fully present and comfortable in my own skin. This life—beautiful, fragile, complex, and incredible—is all I have. There’s nothing left to do but embrace it, hunker down with my loved ones, and never forget how fortunate I truly am.
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Summary:
As I navigate my late thirties, I reflect on the trials and triumphs of adulthood. Acknowledging my anxiety and the realities of life, I find strength in embracing my role as a parent and partner. This journey is filled with challenges, love, and gratitude, as I learn to appreciate the life I’ve built and the relationships that matter most.
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