Honestly, so far my 20s have been uncertain and uncomfortable. Sometimes its disappointing. Disillusioning.
Some days I don’t know if I’m coming or going and other days I’m completely sure of my decisions. There’s no way I “have it all together” but somehow I feel an extreme pressure to be so. There are unspoken expectations for me to be somebody and absolutely nothing at all. The 20s are weird like that.
To be honest, I could write a book on how people react when I tell them my age. They always respond with, “you act much more mature” or any combination of the words. But as soon as I “act my age” said individuals are upset. And what does acting my age actually look like? And I am still trying to discern if that is a compliment of insult.
Truth is, its hard. I mean, hard; trying and failing (but sometimes succeeding), restarting and rediscovering myself because myself is ever changing, growing. Rooting my identity deep snug in the folds of Christ’s love grounds me whenever ‘life happens’ and that’s everyday.
I admit I am 23 – naïve, crazy, scared, alive, passionate. I am messy, shaky, unsure. I care a whole lot and love hard. I look for the same level of care and love from those I chose to penetrate my sacred inner circle. I can be bougie and ghetto at the same time. My musings are limitless. I am a daughter who’s been set free and who just so happens to be 23.
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