Blame It On My Youth

This morning in my Semantics class, my classmate made a comment about how I'm the youngest in the class, which led to the question, "How old are you, Stephanie?"

"22." I answered nonchalantly.

Even a year ago, I would have tried to conceal my age from my classmates. I've always been embarrassed about being the youngest in almost every social situation. I think it started in kindergarten, when I was a barely-five-years-old Steph getting teased about being the youngest.

I'm the third of seven kids, and I've always looked up to my older sisters. They read cool books, wore makeup, performed their instruments in public, and went out with their cool friends long before I did. I always wanted to do the same things that they did. They actually let me tag along with them sometimes when they hung out with their friends--which is mind blowing to me now. (It was really nice of them to do that!) I continued to always be uncomfortable that I was so much younger than everyone. I wanted to be done being young, dangit! Being older was better and it meant that I was a better person somehow...

And it was a recurring theme throughout my life. I finished my AA degree in high school because I was "just done being in high school" and I loved feeling like I was somehow older--and in my mind, better--than my friends. When I first got to BYU, I almost never admitted that I was a freshman. When I started dating Greg, I waited a while to tell him how old I really was. (I didn't race to get married young. I happened to meet the right person when I was young, and we got married when it was right for us.)

I continued to race towards "being older". I pushed myself really hard to graduate from BYU quickly, because college graduates "must" be officially adults. (However, I can honestly say that I wanted a baby for the sake of having a baby, not because everyone around me was having them or because I wasn't a "real adult" without one.)

Looking back, I realize that my underlying assumption was that my life would somehow be better or easier if I were older and had accomplished more things. Or that my life somehow "ended" when I reached a certain age. But I'm finally at a point where I'm actually comfortable with my age and I'm not killing myself to accomplish life milestones as though they were merely items on a to-do list.

Yeah, I'm young. So what? Age doesn't matter. There is no age limit on my dreams. So what if it takes me 3 years to finish my Master's degree? Does that make me a better or worse human being? No.
So what if I don't have my kids 18 months apart? Does that make me a better or worse human being? No.

I'm learning, maybe for the first time, to just let go and to not give in to feelings of inferiority. And I'm discovering that I enjoy life more now.

I was surprised this morning at my casual response to my classmate's question. I would even say that I'm proud of myself for it. I feel like this morning was another example to me that I am slowly getting comfortable in my own skin. And it feels gooooooood.