What does it mean to be a grown-up? Is it about earning your own money? Paying bills? Having responsibilities? Or is it something deeper—an ability to stay calm in chaos, to handle crises without falling apart?

And is growing up an internal shift, or does it require some sort of external validation—a degree, a job, an apartment with a rent that makes you question all your life choices? Do accolades and achievements truly mark adulthood? And if so, why do some adults still throw tantrums when the Wi-Fi is slow?

For me, the line has always been blurry. I was ten when I held my newborn sibling in my arms—just an hour old, tiny, wrinkly, and utterly dependent. I was filled with love, warmth, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. In that moment, I was still a child, yet also a caregiver.

Between school projects, hobbies, and playdates, I was also learning how to soothe a crying baby, feed him, change diapers (not well), and make sure he was happy. My world expanded beyond just me—it now included this tiny human who, for a while, needed me.

The tiny baby who looked up to me with wide-eyed amazement, returned my kisses, and asked endless questions about the world. The toddler who followed me around the stairs, learnt to ride the bike with me holding him until he did.

And then, suddenly, he didn’t. He grew. Our dynamic shifted. One day, I looked at him and realized he no longer needed constant care. I don’t know when that change happened—just like I don’t know when we, as individuals, officially ‘grow up.’ Is there a moment where it happens, like flipping a switch? Or do we just wake up one day and realize we’ve outgrown certain things—like an old pair of jeans that once fit but now feels too tight at the waist and two inches too short at the ankles?

The Tyranny of Teenage

As kids, we live in a world of do’s and don’ts. Rules and routines. Finish your homework. Eat your broccoli. Learn your spelling. Practice your cello. Get good grades. Be polite. Don’t talk back. It’s as if children don’t have an inherent sense of right and wrong, so parents take it upon themselves to steer them in the ‘correct’ direction—toward discipline, toward responsibility, toward understanding choices. Not just between ice cream and fruit, but the bigger choices.

And just as our parents double down on the importance of right and wrong—hormones knock on the door. Teenage years arrive with a rush of change and, more importantly, a taste of freedom. Suddenly, the world isn’t just about rules. It’s about choices. The freedom to stay out late, to make mistakes, to explore relationships, to test boundaries. At 18, with a fully developed body and a still-developing ‘Chetna’ (Using a Hindi word as I find no English equivalent), teenagers step into the world believing they’re ready to take it on.

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Every teenager is a rebellion without a cause. Some more than others, no doubt. But most feel invincible, convinced they know better. And their parents? Outdated. If parents had to live through teenage today, surely, they wouldn’t survive! At least, that’s how every teenager thinks.

And then, of course, adulthood hits. The very things they dismissed—stability, responsibility, knowing when to pick your battles—suddenly start making sense. Maybe parents weren’t so clueless after all.

The Myth of Knowing It All

Does being a grown-up mean knowing it all?

Maybe growing up isn’t just about age, responsibilities, or milestones. Although, that’s exactly what society seems to sell us. By your 30s, you’re expected to have it all figured out—career, relationships, purpose, maybe even a skincare routine that works. But what no one tells you is that your 30s are also when you start pining for meaning. You begin the long, humbling journey of learning, unlearning, and relearning patterns, behaviours, and beliefs you didn’t even know you had.

Now that you are a grown-up—at least on paper—do you really feel like you have it all? Do you know it all? Probably not.

Sure, experience teaches us a few things. Like not to text your ex after two glasses of wine, or that ignoring laundry doesn’t make it disappear. But does it stop us from making new mistakes? Absolutely not. We just graduate to more complex ones, with higher stakes and subtler lessons.

And somewhere along the way, we stop asking for help. As if admitting we don’t know something, or can’t do it alone, is a sign of weakness. We convince ourselves that strength means self-sufficiency, and forget that even grown-ups need guidance, support, and reassurance—sometimes just as much as kids do.

Most people, most of the time, feel like something’s missing. There’s always a greener lawn across the street, shinier achievements, happier photos on someone else’s feed. Why is collective consciousness so deeply entangled with envy and longing? Why does adulthood so often feel like chasing something just out of reach?

Maybe the real essence of growing up is acceptance. Acceptance that you’re not invincible, not perfect, and never fully in control. That certainty is a myth, and that you’ll never know it all. And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay. Maybe being a grown-up isn’t about having all the answers—but about becoming more comfortable with the questions.

Is Trauma a Testimony of Growing Up?

All the heartache, rejection, and disappointments—are these just emotional souvenirs of adulthood? Are the scars we carry the fine print of growing up? And then there’s the quiet, gut-wrenching trauma of failure. The exam you didn’t pass, the job you didn’t get, the relationship that fell apart despite your best efforts.

It chips away at your confidence, makes you question your worth, and whispers things you’d never say to someone you love—but somehow say to yourself. Growing up is learning to sit with that sting without letting it define you.

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It’s picking yourself up, even if it’s slowly, and choosing to move forward with the understanding that failure isn’t the opposite of growth—it’s a part of it.

Sometimes it feels like the only consistent part of adulthood is healing. Especially from childhood trauma. Maybe healing isn’t about erasing the memory of falling, but about building the courage to try again, without the fear of not being enough. And then, if you’re lucky, making peace with the fact that healing isn’t linear, nor ever fully complete.

But how do you even know you’ve healed? When that old wound doesn’t sting anymore? When you stop talking about it? Or when you can laugh about it without bitterness?

Are unresolved issues a sign that you’re not really grown up? Or are they just reminders that we’re still human—still work in progress?

Stoic philosophy tells us we can’t control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond. Sounds noble in theory. But in real life, when your coffee spills on your white shirt and your boss wants to “catch up,” it doesn’t always feel like you have a lot of stoic power left.

Maybe growing up isn’t just about reacting better. Maybe it’s about acknowledging your hurt, making choices anyway, and accepting the consequences—not with regret, but with grace.

Because the truth is, choice always comes with a price. And growing up might just be learning to live with that price—without letting it define you, but rather, shape you. Not into something hardened or jaded, but into someone softer, wiser, and more compassionate—with yourself and with others.

The Quiet Truth of Growing Up

At its core, maybe growing up isn’t a destination or a checklist of achievements. It’s the quiet understanding that every action carries weight, and every choice ripples outward—even the small ones. That cause and effect isn’t just something we learn in physics class, but something we live through every day.

Choosing kindness over ego. Choosing to apologise even when it’s uncomfortable. Choosing rest over burnout. Choosing to walk away from things that no longer serve us, even when it hurts. These choices may not come with trophies or applause, but they are the true markers of maturity.

And perhaps one of the hardest lessons in this journey is understanding the difference between fair and favourable. Life isn’t always favourable—things don’t always go your way—but that doesn’t mean it’s unfair. Fairness is a benchmark, a neutral measure. And growing up means learning to accept that life can be fair, yet still hard. It’s about holding on to hope without slipping into cynicism.

Resilience, then, becomes the quiet superpower of adulthood. Not the loud, cinematic kind, but the everyday resilience—the ability to try again, to care again, to trust again, even when things haven’t gone your way.

Growing up is about recognising that life doesn’t always offer neat outcomes. Sometimes you do everything “right” and still things fall apart. But even then, we learn. We evolve. We become.

So no, growing up isn’t about knowing everything, or healing perfectly, or being perpetually calm in the chaos. It’s about owning your choices, facing their consequences, and doing your best to live with integrity, curiosity, and compassion.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s about eating your broccoli—not because someone told you to, but because you know it’s good for you, and you’re finally okay with that.