Let’s talk about adulting, folks
Yeah, I know. It’s a stupid word. But it’s our stupid word, damn it. And I’m gonna use it because, frankly, it’s easier than saying ‘the often disastrous process of becoming a functioning adult while maintaining some semblance of sanity and style.’
I’m Sarah, by the way. Senior editor at a major publication (you know, the ones that still print on actual paper, because we’re old-school like that). I’ve been doing this for 22 years, which means I’ve seen alot of trends come and go. And I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Like, a lot.
Like the time I tried to DIY my own summer fashion trends essentials wardrobe. Oh, it was a disaster. Let’s just say my sewing machine and I are no longer on speaking terms.
Why I’m qualified to talk about this
I’ve got three kids, a husband who thinks ‘matching socks’ is a life goal, and a house that’s perpetually in a state of controlled chaos. I’ve survived 147 school fundraisers, 36 hours of carpool duty, and approximately 87 million playdates. I’ve also learned a few things about keeping my sanity while trying to be an adult.
And look, I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out. I mean, I still burn toast. Regularly. Like, I could set a world record for most toast burned in a lifetime. But I’ve learned to embrace the mess. The chaos. The… adulting.
The great sock mystery
Let’s talk laundry. Because if there’s one thing that’ll make you question your life choices, it’s doing laundry with kids. I swear, my kids lose more socks than the Bermuda Triangle loses airplanes. I’m constantly finding single socks in the weirdest places. Behind the couch. In the dog’s bed. Once, I found one in the silverware drawer. I have no idea how it got there. But it was there. Alone. Like a tiny, lonely island in a sea of forks.
I asked my friend Marcus about this once. He’s a dad of twins, so he gets it. “It’s like they’re part of some secret sock rebellion,” he told me. “They’re out there, Sarah. Organizing. Planning. Waiting for the right moment to strike.” Which… yeah. Fair enough.
Dinner time drama
And don’t even get me started on dinner. I swear, feeding my family is like trying to solve a complex puzzle every night. “I don’t like this,” “I want something else,” “Why isn’t there any ketchup?” It’s a miracle I haven’t lost my mind. Or my appetite.
I remember this one time, about three months ago, I decided to make homemade pizza. Sounded simple, right? Wrong. My daughter, let’s call her Emily, took one look at it and said, “Mom, this isn’t pizza. Pizza has pepperoni. And it comes in a box.” I mean, really? After all that work? I felt like crying. Or burning the pizza. Or both.
But I didn’t. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that she’s six and doesn’t know any better, and I ate the pizza. Alone. In the pantry. With the light off. Because that’s what adults do.
Date night? What’s that?
And let’s not forget about date night. Or, as I like to call it, “the mythical creature that lives in the land of unicorns and leprechauns.” My husband and I used to have date nights. Back when we were young and foolish and had no idea what we were in for. Now, date night is more like “let’s order takeout and eat it in front of the TV while pretending we’re not both thinking about the mountain of laundry staring at us from the other room.”
But hey, at least we’re honest with ourselves. And we’re still together. So there’s that.
The art of saying no
You know what I’ve learned? It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to put yourself first sometimes. It’s okay to not be perfect. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s necessary. Because if you’re not taking care of yourself, how can you take care of anyone else?
I remember last Tuesday, my colleague named Dave asked me to take on an extra project. I was already swamped, but I felt like I couldn’t say no. I mean, what if he thought I wasn’t committment to my job? What if…? Well, I said yes. And then I spent the next three days physicaly ill from stress. Not my finest moment.
But I learned my lesson. The next time someone asked me to do something I didn’t have time for, I said no. And you know what? The world didn’t end. In fact, it was kinda liberating.
Self-care isn’t selfish
And speaking of taking care of yourself, let’s talk about self-care. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Sarah, self-care is just an excuse to eat a whole pint of ice cream while watching Netflix.” And to that, I say… sometimes, yes. But it’s also so much more than that.
Self-care is about doing things that make you feel good. That make you feel like you. It’s about taking a bubble bath, or going for a run, or reading a book, or whatever it is that makes you happy. It’s about making time for yourself, even when life gets busy. Even when the laundry is piling up. Even when the socks are rebelling.
I started making a point to do something for myself every day. Even if it’s just for 10 minutes. And it’s made a big difference. I’m happier. I’m more patient. I’m less likely to burn the toast.
The importance of letting go
But here’s the thing about adulting: it’s messy. It’s chaotic. It’s completley unpredictable. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s what makes life interesting. It’s what makes us who we are.
So let go of the idea of perfection. Let go of the idea that you have to do it all. Let go of the idea that you have to be it all. Because you don’t. None of us do.
We’re all just out here, trying to figure it out as we go. Trying to keep our heads above water. Trying to make it work. And that’s okay. That’s more than okay. That’s life.
So embrace the chaos. Embrace the mess. Embrace the art of adulting. Because it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being real. It’s about being you.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a pint of ice cream and a Netflix series. Because self-care, people. It’s what’s for dinner.
About the Author: Sarah Johnson is a senior editor at a major publication. She’s a mom of three, a wife, and a survivor of countless school fundraisers. She writes about the messy, wonderful art of adulting and the importance of self-care. When she’s not writing, she can be found burning toast, hiding from her kids, or binge-watching Netflix. She lives in Austin with her family and a dog that thinks it’s a cat.
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