Sometimes, days are hard. I thought that would change once I was an adult. I expected that at some point a magic switch would get thrown, my thinking would straighten out, my brain would work properly, I’d always know the right thing to do, and I’d feel good about myself. It was a shock to realize that wasn’t going to be the case.

It was a shock to realize that your brain remains the same.

Sometimes, when things are particularly bad, I regress. I find myself calling out for my mother under my breath. I want to go back in time. I want what was possible when I was a child; I want mom to fix it – whatever the “it” is of the moment – and make me feel better.

Those were the days. When the biggest problems were easily solved by a hug and a cuddle. When you could offload your problems to someone else and they would either help you fix it or fix it for you. I miss that. I want it again.

Doing things for yourself is hard. Adulting is hard. Owning your life and your choices is daunting at times.

I’d prefer it if my life was someone else’s responsibility. I want someone in charge who knows what they’re doing. I want someone else in charge, so I have someone else to blame.

I want more cuddles and reassurance. I didn’t take nearly enough advantage of them.

When I’m falling, when I’m struggling, when I’m triggered, it would be nice if there was someone who could come to the rescue.

Doing it yourself time and again gets boring.

Don’t get me wrong. There are cool things about being an adult. I can do what I want when I want and really, no one can stop me. I can choose to do anything. Ironically, that freedom is the downside as well. When you’re an adult, it’s all up to you. You decide how the story is going to go. Freedom and frustration in one tidy package.