I don’t feel grown up. Is that ok?

I’ve always wanted to ask my adult friends this, but have never dared to because the question sounds so strange. Do you feel like a grown up? And how would you understand the phrase “grown up”?

Of course, there are legal definitions of “adulthood,” and most would agree that a person becomes an adult when they have a certain number of years under their belt. But numbers alone do not mean much; some people experience a lot within a very short lifetime, whereas others do not. Catherine Howard—the fifth wife of Henry VIII—was, by some accounts, only 17 when she died. Mary Shelley had her famous love affair with her Percy at 17, and published Frankenstein at 21. When Interview with the Vampire opens, the vampire Louis tells the titular interviewer, “I was 24 then, younger than you are now. But times were different then, I was a man at that age.” And, as my grandmother never tires of reminding me, by the time she was 21 she’d already had her first child.

I’m in my mid-30s. I have no children; I’ve not published anything, let alone a great work of art; I’ve not experienced a grand, all-consuming passion or loss (for which I am thankful).

I would not describe myself as a child. I understand I am, by definition, a woman. And I do accept that I have “grown up” responsibilities like the care of older family members, a mortgage, work responsibilities, etc. Yet I don’t feel grown up.

By that I mean it still feels, on some strange level, deep down, that I’m very much still the person I was as a numerical child. Sure, my tastes have changed, my understanding of the world has changed, I’ve changed many of the ways I live my life—and yet, some essential sense of “me-ness” remains exactly the same.

Let’s consider some of the qualities commonly associated with being grown up. Do I feel wiser? This depends on how the day is going. Do I feel like I’ve learned a lot about life and people? Yes, but I learned a lot as a numerical child too, and I can only imagine how much more I have to learn and experience. Do I feel more assured and confident? No.

If anything, crossing some numerical and biological threshold into “adulthood” has brought with it a low-grade yet pervasive sense of loss. I’ve lost some illusions, lost some curiosity, lost an odd, indefinable sense of invulnerability. This last thing is not the same as confidence or self-possession—I was always a socially anxious child, and growing up has, if anything, made me more socially anxious. Rather, I’m referring to that odd inability to conceive of the self as truly vulnerable to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune which younger folks seem to have.

So yes, I feel an odd, amorphous sense of loss, but I don’t feel essentially different from who I used to be.

And I still enjoy many so-called childish things. I love video games. I watch D&D streams and gaming streams religiously. I think I will always prefer the bubblegumiest of bubblegum pop to other genres of music. My sense of humour, as my sister pointed out, would most likely be appreciated by an adolescent boy.

So what defines a grown up? Are you a grown up if you feel like one? Are you a grown up if you behave in certain ways? Are you a grown up if you’ve hit certain numerical milestones and have taken on bank loans?

Frank Furedi, a professor of Sociology at the University of Kent, has written a scathing analysis of the “Peter Pans,” “kidults,” and “boomerang kids” who refuse—or are unable—to do adult things like take on steady work, live independently, and have intimate relationships, but instead spend all their money on luxury goods and pour hours into computer games while avoiding any hint of responsibility. He refutes the idea that economic factors have created a generation of stuck-at-home-with-parents “kidults,” suggesting instead that more and more individuals are simply refusing to grow up, thanks to a culture which increasingly idealises nostalgia for childhood, a pervasive “sense of impermanance that prevails over daily life,” and “the gradual emptying out of adult identity.”

Well, guilty as charged! I do feel intense nostalgia for my childhood—and I’m grateful to the people in my life for that. This nostalgia means the adults around me did a good job! And I do think we live in an era of, if I may be slightly dramatic here, disillusionment and despair—but I also think this is a valid response to the myriad of disasters happening to and around the globe. And I’m going to make the case that “adult identity” doesn’t need “emptying out”—because it was empty to begin with.

Let’s examine Furedi’s assumptions here. Consider his implied definition of an adult: a person who takes up their responsibilities and maintains socially sanctioned “intimate” relationships. Now let’s consider phenomena like absent fathers, rising divorce rates, the misogyny which gave rise to gender inequality, high profile cases of adultery, increasing prevalence of scams, the normalising of shady business practices, foolish political grandstanding, exploitation of the marginalised, . . . the list goes on. And such nonsense happens not only “far away” in the news, but all around us. Adding anecdotal evidence to what we see in the news, the sheer volume (I can hardly say “number” anymore) of adults-by-legal-and-numerical-definition behaving poorly is perhaps a sign, not, as Furedi would have it, that people are increasingly unable to behave like adults, but that the concept of the “adult” should never have been tied to responsibility in the first place, because many people, regardless of numerical age, are unable to behave well, or behave how society would force them to. That is to say, the idea that simply by crossing a numerical and cultural threshold, someone magically becomes able and willing to take on their responsibilities properly and treat others well enough to maintain a stable relationship is, and always has been, an illusion. Being an adult, it seems, is an ideal, more of a “this is what we should aim for” than a “this thing exists.” Most of the time, these adults are behaving as they have always behaved—like children. And this makes sense, because we all start off as children. No one was born an adult. Adulthood is the social construct here.

But I’m going to go a little further: saying these people are behaving “like children” is demeaning—to children. When I was a teacher, I watched young students fulfil all their daily responsibilities, day in and day out: reaching school at 7 am, participating in lessons until 2 pm or so, then going for co-curricular activities till 7 pm, then heading home and carrying on with homework or projects. And there I was, feeling hard done by if my day ended around 6 pm. Oh but their responsibilities are so light! I hear you cry. Wait till they enter the workplace!

True, but it also seems adults like to publicise how they fulfil their responsibilities a little too much, and downplay those of children a little too enthusiastically. To the child, the possibility of being scolded—perhaps publicly—for not being “responsible” enough to get their work done is as emotionally draining as the prospect of a bad appraisal by a supervisor would be. And actually being upbraided as a child is no different than being criticised as an adult. And finally, these are actual, biological children and teenagers we’re talking about—of course the consequences should be less serious compared to a fully grown biological adult’s.

Are there young people who don’t care about these consequences and therefore give the impression that they have no sense of responsibility? Yes, but then there are also many, many numerical adults who are like that.

Here, I must be careful to say that important legal distinctions must be made between adults and children. We must recognise that life experience and mental development does play a role in decision making and power differentials, and that some line must be drawn to prevent those who are older in years and advantaged by society’s privileging of adults from exploiting those who do not have the same privileges. I.e. the law still has to make a distinction between adults and minors, but it is precisely because society privileges adulthood that such protection is needed.

Children are told to be respectful to elders (at least in our part of the world). Adults consciously and subconsciously drive home the idea that this is a world made by, and for, adults, and that children must somehow wait—or even earn—their place in the world as an “adult” in order to fully enjoy the pleasures the world has to offer. Adults consciously and subconsciously arrogate to themselves authority, knowledge, even truth. The dark side of this mirror is that children’s voices are not heard, or, if heard, deemed less serious, their concerns less pressing.

It has been said that the modern concept of the child was invented in the 17th century. Taking a cue from Said,  perhaps we should flip the idea on its head: it was the concept of the adult which was invented in the 17th century. Child/Adult, Other/Self. If the Other is innocent and carefree, then the Self is bowed down by Serious Burdens, tied down by Responsibility and Duty. This, perhaps, is why adults spend so much time moaning about growing up.

And this endless moaning, frankly, does everyone a disservice. Adulthood and its attendant responsibilities become associated with stress and the end of personal freedom and agency, while childhood and its responsibilities become undervalued. “If you think this is stressful, wait till you grow up and go to work!” When adults say this, no matter the intent or tone, what they are doing is teaching the child that the child’s concerns are more trivial compared to those of the adult, and that adulthood is not something to look forward to. And who in their right mind would look forward to becoming an adult if they constantly saw and heard their parents griping about adult responsibilities, and behaving as though life after 18 or 21 is nothing but a slog for survival?

So no, I do not feel grown up. But perhaps that is a good thing, if it means I do not feel essentially tired, grumpy, and shackled. I would love to be wiser, more patient, gentler, kinder—but I do not think these qualities are the unique province of adults.

I do not feel grown up. But perhaps no one does, because there’s no such thing as a grown up, really. There is the legal category, “adult.” Apart from that, there are only people, who differ in life experience and the resulting qualities.