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This morning, I opened my eyes and looked around my room. My desk was a disaster, clothes were scattered across the floor, and dust was starting to collect in the corners. I stared at the ceiling, a different one from the ceiling I used to stare at when I was a teenager, and wondered—will I ever really feel like an adult?

I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head, that same phrase she’s been repeating for as long as I can remember: Tidy your room, clean up, be responsible. And yet, I’ve always held a tiny grudge against that command. It felt hypocritical—because, let’s be honest, she wasn’t exactly the picture of organization herself. But she was my mother, and mothers have this mysterious power to impose rules they don’t always follow.

Keeping your space clean is supposed to be one of those basic skills you acquire as a child, right? A marker of growing up. And yet, here I am at 25, technically an adult, but looking at my messy room makes me feel like I’m still 17. Some days, I feel independent, responsible, fully immersed in the adult world, juggling the very real stress that comes with it. And then other days—like today—I feel like a kid playing house, waiting for someone else to come in and take care of everything for me.

The Rules of Adulthood

So, what actually defines adulthood? At what point do we officially cross the line into being grown up? Society would tell you that adulthood starts at 18. Maybe when you move in with someone, pay your taxes, and have bills piling up in your inbox. Apparently, being an adult means owing money and cohabiting—whether you’re miserable or not.

But I don’t think that’s the real answer. If it were, then how do you explain all the people in their thirties who still feel lost? The ones with mortgages, spouses, and retirement plans who still Google how to boil an egg or call their parents when their washing machine makes a weird noise? If adulthood were simply about reaching certain milestones, then we’d all wake up one day—probably sometime between signing a lease and setting up automatic bill payments—feeling completely transformed. But that moment never really comes, does it?

The Myth of Grown-Ups

I struggle with the word adult. It feels like a concept more than a reality. We grow up watching TV shows where 30-year-olds live like they’re still 21, making mistakes, figuring things out, trying to become the people they think they’re supposed to be. I see people my age who are “established,” who seem to have it all together—but then I have a conversation with them and realize that, underneath the curated Instagram posts and well-decorated apartments, they’re just as confused as the rest of us.

Again, society tells us that by 26, we should be in our full-time careers, maybe owning our first apartment, possibly even engaged. But let’s be real—I am nowhere close to any of that. I don’t even know if those things would make me feel like an adult. And if they don’t, then what does?

When Did Life Get So Boring?

Because, let’s be honest—being a kid was better. Why are we so obsessed with turning children into functional members of society as quickly as possible? Sure, responsibility is necessary, but why does growing up also mean losing joy? Think back to when you were little. You’d be dragged to adult dinners, forced to sit through conversations about taxes, family drama, and last night’s dinner menu. And it was so boring. But here’s the kicker—now that we’re the adults at the table, it’s still boring.

No one told us that adulthood wasn’t about feeling like you have it all together. No one told us that it wasn’t about reaching a magical milestone that suddenly makes everything clear. No one told us that instead of feeling accomplished, we’d feel tired. That instead of feeling independent, we’d still secretly want to call our moms when we don’t know how to fix something.

And listen to me : I don’t want to spend the rest of my life at dull dinner parties with people whose only topic of conversation is their work problems with Patricia from accounting. If adulthood is just a slow march toward a life of endless small talk, financial stress, and predictable routines, then maybe—just maybe—I don’t want to grow up. Or worse… maybe we’re all just destined to be bored forever.

Redefining Adulthood

But maybe—just maybe—being an adult isn’t as rigid as we’ve been led to believe. Maybe adulthood doesn’t have one clear definition, no singular moment where we "arrive." Maybe it’s not about having a spotless apartment, a mortgage, or a perfect five-year plan. Maybe it’s about figuring things out at our own pace, creating a life that actually makes us happy rather than one that just checks society’s boxes.

Because if there’s no universal definition of adulthood, then we get to write our own. It can mean building a career or traveling the world. It can mean getting married or choosing to be single. It can mean owning a house or feeling perfectly content in a rented studio. Adulthood isn’t about fitting into a pre-made mold—it’s about shaping your life into something that feels right for you.

So maybe I don’t always feel like an adult, and maybe my room will always be a little messy. But if being grown up means deciding what happiness looks like on my own terms, then maybe I’m doing just fine.

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