Thirty : A Few Months On.

Someone asked me how I’ve felt since turning thirty. It took me a while to think about it, I scrunched up my nose and finally replied “Fine, really… good actually!”. I had spent the lead up to thirty crying and berating myself over just about anything and everything, now that I’ve ‘crossed over’ to the other side it feels strange looking back and seeing how distressed the simple act of growing older made me. I can pinpoint exactly what the feelings were, the individual places they came from and why. First came the shame of feeling like I had been left on the shelf as I watched most of my age mates settle into long term relationships or the gentle joy of married life over the years whilst I – a late bloomer found myself going through the formative love and relationship fails my peers had experienced much earlier and wondering why things weren’t quite working. Second came the thoughts of failing culture, as an unmarried thirty year old woman, had I failed my parents? my extended family? hell, my entire lineage? There was a stifling embarrassment that I felt prickle at the skin across my nose when I would hear my mother on the phone speaking to a far off aunty taking pride in bragging about their thirty-something year old child’s latest engagement / wedding / pregnancy. Third came the realisation that I was indeed aging which seems like a strange thing to come to a realisation to considering I’ve been aging every year but I began to run my fingers over the gentle lines now settling around my eyes and I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach – was this the beginning of the end? Would I be rendered invisible?

It turns out that when you turn thirty you don’t turn into dust and simply disappear – you just keep… existing. And I found in my case, I turned thirty and the tears stopped, the fear stopped and I tasted a fullness of self that I felt had been missing all my life. The emptiness that i had felt in the lead up to my birthday disappeard without much struggle, and I didn’t feel the ache of being single, childless and mortgageless anymore. A few months on and I can categorically say that I still feel the same fullness, and life is good. I haven’t ticked off anything that society says I should have particularly as a Nigerian woman, but finally, it doesn’t tug at my insecurities anymore, and I suppose it’s because I made a point to really work through these thoughts and feelings and explore the reasonings ‘why’. Right now I’m content working both for myself in some capacity as well as settling into my new role as an Architect at a london practice. I’m enjoying the freedom of being able to do things at my own pace with little responsibility and it feels good to be able to be a little selfish. But should things change – I welcome that also, and I think what I mean to say is: Whatever season I find myself in during this new decade, I’ll make the most out of it. Should seasons change – and they may and they may not, then I welcome that too. 

If you’re in your late twenties and you’re freaking out about turning thirty – take it from a woman who broke down in the Kings Cross Space NK the afternoon before her birthday and stood sobbing whilst looking at Diptyque candles – I am here to assure you that it does indeed get better and the grass is definitely green on this side, it’s not dry, withered and decrepit as society would have you believe. Thirty is absolutely a joy and given the circumstances I feel very grateful to have hit another age milestone. Thirty feels like leaving a dark tunnel and finally having your feet touch grass, feeling the sunlight hit you squarely on your face and the heat of the sun warming you all over. It feels a little bit… like home, exactly where I should be.