I was glad to turn 30. I really was. My twenties were a bit chaotic. I start and graduated college, moved away from home four times, had two jobs that taught me what I didn’t want to do, had some bad bosses and some good ones, started and graduated university, met and married Joe, got a dog, had a baby, started a job that I thought was a short term solution that turned into a long term.
I had gone from being totally confused about my career path to trying this on for size to finding things I love to do, I had gone from being alone and assuming I would stay that way to having a husband, dog and daughter – a lovely family.
Turning 30 I still didn’t feel like a grown up, but I was happier than I had been and felt a lot more stable.
Now as I approach 31 I feel that 30 doesn’t have to be the put-together woman that we see around us. I can still be dorky and weird, I can watch terrible reality shows like Teen Mom, I can blast Linkin Park when I’m in a bad mood. I can knit on the bus while laughing out loud at the podcast I’m listening to.
At 30 I don’t have to be anything anyone else expects, I can be me like I never have been before.