On February 23rd, I am saying “goodbye” to my teenage years and turning 20. That number has loomed over my head for the past year (or even for the past few years) as my age ticked higher and higher into the teens. As my panic sets in about this seemingly transformative birthday, I am considering the reasons why I am so frightened by a simple change in digits.
I have never been the type of person to spend my birthday in a pouty, “it’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to” mood. Birthdays have always felt comfortable to me. I get dressed up, curl my hair, and wear heavier makeup than usual. I change into my most special outfit, wearing tights, skirts and blouses in pretty shades of pink. I treat myself with my favorite foods, watch my favorite movies, and play my favorite songs. I respond to birthday messages, whether they be paragraphs from my close friends or one-sentence obligatory texts. I get out of the house, push off my school work, and keep a carefree attitude.
When it comes to celebration, I let the birthday candles heat my face and cross my fingers as I make my wish. I let the torn-up wrapping paper and crumpled gift bags line the floor as I make my way through presents — my birthday has always been a source of love and happiness.
Now, when I think of my upcoming birthday celebration, it feels distinctly cold and bitter compared to the birthdays of years past. I feel that I am crossing an imaginary line from teenager to real adult, and that stark transformation scares me. I have this carefully crafted image of teenage girlhood in my head: one of playing dress up in the middle of the night, roaming empty streets with friends, spilling my heart out into my diary, filling my room with crystals and stacks of books and candles. I see teenage-hood as the period of time when you are the most free to make mistakes, unleash your anger, or turn sullen — whichever emotion you want to commit yourself to. As adulthood responsibilities set in, however, it seems like this cultural toleration of expressing emotions in such an intense and open manner ceases.
For many women, the pure femininity of teenage girlhood tends to be abandoned as the adjustment to adulthood takes place. You take down the posters of heartthrobs, pack up your childhood bedroom, donate your frilly clothing, and force yourself to blend in with other adults as a mask of maturity.
Life’s possibilities no longer seem endless. You no longer feel that you can meld yourself into whoever you want to be, because you no longer feel like you have all the time in the world. The future life you once daydreamed of becomes reality, and most of the time it doesn’t live up to your expectations. You don’t work the job you once envisioned yourself doing. You don’t look exactly the way you imagined yourself to be. You aren’t traveling the world, meeting the people you wanted to meet, or doing whatever fueled your girlhood fantasies.
Of course, these anxieties are specific to me, but I like to imagine that all girls have some of these feelings at one point or another. It can be very isolating to grow older, though every person experiences it. As a woman growing up in a culture that praises youthfulness, a birthday can sometimes feel akin to a funeral.
Adopting a more optimistic viewpoint on aging is something that I will be working on –– but I will mourn my teenage girlhood forever.
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