Age is just a number! That’s always what people say whenever you start getting older, a somewhat meaningless platitude that most don’t even think about. Tomorrow, I turn 27. The last day of Aquarius season, in the midst of winter, I’ve always loved this time of year. This year, one of the biggest emotions I am trying to grapple with is dread and disappointment.
To put my feelings into context, and to give a bit of background on my life, I have lived at home with my parents (now just my mom) for about two and half years now. In late August of 2022 I made the decision to leave where I was living all the way across the state to move in with my parents. If I am being honest, it was that difficult of a decision to make, I was amid a nervous breakdown and needed someone who was able to help me function. My boyfriend, who I was living with at the time, was unable to devote that kind of time and attention to me without pulling us both deeper into a hole. So when my mom was turning around to head back home after coming to make sure I was okay, I broke down completely and decided to go back with her. I did not have a plan, I had no clue how long it would be, and I was leaving a man who loved me behind in the hopes I could find out what was going on. As days turned into weeks, I made the decision to stay with my parents. I knew it was what I needed to do, that I would not be able to go back to the life I was living and function as if my world had not completely tipped on its axis.
My boyfriend and I stayed in contact, the distance causing an immense strain, but our love for one another not allowing either one of us to say goodbye permanently. As the weeks went on I started feeling more and more like I could function in the world again, even if it was only tiny steps at a time. I got back on lexapro, despite knowing it would be hell trying to come off it again, and stopped my birth control which was playing a huge role in me feeling how I did. It also started becoming more and more apparent that if I did decide to leave, I might not ever get this time with my dad again.
Once I started feeling better and better, life seemed to get a bit easier. I still did not want to move out. While I was now 25, I could not afford to live on my own and could not leave my mom to be the single caretaker of my dad. My mom and I both knew that his situation was getting worse and worse, and I just wanted to make sure that I was here to be able to help. In the summer of 2023 my mom unexpectedly lost her job. That was a tough blow, and it left me feeling like it was one more reason I could not think about leaving. Shortly after I found out my aunt was very sick, and for the following two months I did all I could to try to help her and my cousin. At that point leaving was not on my mind, I just needed to help my family.
The day after my aunt’s funeral, my mom and I took my dad to the emergency room. He wasn’t able to go to his own sister’s funeral the day before, and that morning I woke up with a pit in my stomach. I knew if we did not take him to the hospital now that I would be attending another funeral very soon. He never made it out of the hospital, and spent five months in the ICU on life support.
I went and saw him every single day, my mom and I taking turns to visit him and make sure he knew we weren’t leaving him by himself. Moving out, leaving my mom to deal on her own without a job, was not an option. If I am being completely honest I had to take those handful of months day by day, sometimes hour by hour. Long term plans for a future were just simply not things I could think about.
On February 1 of 2024 my dad passed away. It was a moment I will never forget, and one I am immensely grateful for while having it simultaneously break me more than I ever thought possible. My dad was not alone as he died, I held his hand and did not leave him the entire day, and for that, I am grateful. He was not alone, and I got to spend that last bit of time with him. For that, I will always be grateful.
For the next few months after his passing, I threw myself headfirst into everything I could possibly think of to make myself better. I no longer had the immense responsibility to see my dad every single day and I found myself very lost. I started working out even more, eventually tried the 75 Hard program three different times, and began the arduous journey of tapering off of my lexapro. I spent a pretty penny on supplements, read books on self development, and cut out all processed sugar. For months I was externally thriving, while internally I felt like I was slowly crumbling more and more and more.
June of last year I thought I was just going through a rough patch when I went on a weekend trip for my aunt’s birthday. I was on my period, tired, and still tapering down the lexapro. After that it was as if I opened the proverbial floodgates to panic and inescapable terror. Everything from last year came flooding in- grief, pain, anger, sadness. From June until September I felt like I was hanging on by a thread. The withdrawal from lexapro was not getting better despite going back up to my original dose, when I felt like I eventually could not take it anymore. I couldn’t be by myself, I couldn’t drive myself anywhere, it was just panic attack after panic attack. In November, I started seeing a psychiatrist who confirmed with me that it most likely was due to the lexapro, and that I should start on something else. I took a week off of work, and after a month and a half of thinking I will never make it to the other side of this, I started to have moments of normal again. My little brother moved back home to help financially, I slowly started doing more and more, and have since then been trying to build a life.
That leads me to where I am now. On the eve of my 27th birthday, feeling like I blinked and went from being 22 and capable of living on my own and the thought of ever moving back in with my parents was absurd, to having lived in my childhood home as an adult for over two years. I am disappointed that I am not further ahead in life, that my time in my twenties is slowly running out and all I have to show for it is traumatic situations and panic attacks. That I should have more figured out by now, or at least more money in my savings account. The dread that another year has come and went and I now feel slightly wiser, but not anywhere near where I thought I would be a year ago.
I say none of this to just simply complain, but to try and get to the deeper root of why I am feeling so low, instead of excited, that I got to experience another year of life. Why is it so difficult to reframe, to look back at the last year and think I went through hell, but I made it out alive. Still living at home doesn’t help matters, but living with my mother and brother has allowed me to have unwavering love and support when I needed it most. I now have time and space to think about moving out, about leaving. And I can’t seem to figure out the right path to go down.
So I pose the question to myself, why am I letting a metric of time control my emotions? Depending on who you ask, time isn’t real, it’s non linear, and we have the ability to escape the constructs of time within our own consciousness if we choose. Why am I letting a birthday dictate my feelings and emotions, let alone my path and decisions?
I will end with this. I set my intention for tomorrow to be another day. To have the sun rise, and feel the cold air on my skin. To be thankful that I get to experience my first day of being 27. That I am lucky enough to have people in my life care enough about me to wish me happy birthday, and celebrate me for simply being alive. I am alive, I am healthy, and I am beyond lucky to celebrate a birthday.
