Growing up in a dazzling and magical world of vibrant pink, where ponies and princesses reigned supreme, made the leap to college feel like stepping into a completely different, foreign universe.Â
The summer before my freshman year of college became a whirlwind of self-discovery and reinvention. Determined to shed the layers of my overly girlish past, I boldly declared sage green as my new favorite color and embraced a wardrobe of neutral tones that felt more “mature” and “grown-up.”
But as exciting as this transformation seemed then, it quickly became clear that I wasn’t alone in the subconscious struggle to forcefully evolve. Numerous friends were also subject to suppressing their “girly” selves to fit into the polished, collegiate mold we all thought we needed to survive. It was disheartening to witness how we had this unspoken pressure to reinvent ourselves just to feel “grown,” where our inner child-like wonder was pushed to the side, and school and work became the forefront of our lives.
Ironically, my eighteenth birthday became a turning point in my girlhood, when the obsession with being an adult was replaced by the need to revert to the comfort of being a child. After all the time spent on speed-running the need to grow up, I immediately got frightened by the thought that I was now “officially” an adult. I could now make legal decisions for myself, vote, and sign legal documents. I was not ready for this whiplash of responsibilities despite the irony of obsessing over needing to appear mature.Â
I realized there was no going back in the legality of growing up, but I could always change my mindset of what being an “adult” could entail. So, I began making small but necessary changes in my life.Â
I blended my new favorite color with the one that defined my childhood, creating a vibrant mix of green and pink in my freshman-year dorm. My walls came alive with posters and prints that brought me joy with chromatic colors that bounced off the walls alongside friendly characters that felt like old friends. My bed quickly transformed into a cozy sanctuary, overflowing with stuffed animals to the point where I was nearly crowded out. Yet, it was the perfect, lively chaos—a little nest of nostalgia and budding adulthood all into one.
Now, as a recently turned 20-year-old, I find myself navigating an entirely different crisis, one that has transformed me into what I like to call a “mega adult.” It’s a far cry from the bewildered teenager I once was, grappling with the complexities of a fresh adulthood. Despite my age no longer ending with a “teen,” I cling to the mindset I developed two years ago: a commitment to cherishing my inner girlhood just as much as I embrace my maturity and career. Striking this balance has been no easy feat, but I don’t think I could’ve survived three years into college without it.