Tag: mental-health

This post is a slightly longer one, as I had not posted over the summer to give you lovely lot a well deserved rest from my dulcet tones I have a lot to say!:

Well, we’ve made it. Another year has somehow disappeared, and I’m not entirely sure where it went. I’m fairly certain I spent at least few months saying “I’ll sort my life out next week”, another two months wondering what day it was, and the remaining seven months convincing myself that being busy was the same thing as being productive. But here we are, at the end of another year, and for once I’ve decided to stop and actually think about it.

Which is dangerous, because reflection is basically just overthinking with a calendar attached.

Wasn’t I supposed to have my life together by now?

When I started Uni, I had a plan. Obviously. It was a very good plan, and it involved becoming more organised, being more productive, making better decisions, looking after myself, doing more interesting things and generally becoming the sort of person who has their life together.

You know the type. They wake up early, drink enough water, have a five-year plan and somehow don’t have 47 unread emails. They probably own a matching set of Tupperware.

I am not that person.

I remain the sort of person who can spend twenty minutes looking for their phone while holding it.

But somewhere along the way, something changed. Not dramatically, and there wasn’t a montage with inspirational music playing in the background. I just started noticing that I wasn’t quite the same person I was twelve months ago. Perhaps that’s enough.

The year didn’t go according to plan

Some things worked out, some things didn’t, and some things worked out in ways I didn’t expect. There were plenty of things I spent far too much time worrying about that turned out not to matter nearly as much as I thought they would.

That’s probably one of the strangest things about getting older. You start to realise how much of your life is spent worrying about imaginary versions of the future. What if this doesn’t work? What if I fail? What if everyone else gets ahead? What if I’m making the wrong decision? Meanwhile, actual life is happening.

You’re having conversations, making memories, changing your mind, meeting people, losing people, learning things, making mistakes and occasionally making the correct decision entirely by accident.

I’ve definitely made mistakes this year. Some small, some embarrassing, and some that required a concerning amount of staring at the ceiling afterwards. But I’m starting to think mistakes are slightly underrated. They’re horrible when you’re making them, but they’re pretty useful afterwards. They teach you things that lectures, books and motivational TikToks never quite can.

I’ve actually come quite far

This is normally the bit where I’m supposed to list my achievements. So here goes: I survived. I kept going. I tried things I wasn’t sure I could do, had conversations I didn’t want to have, walked away from things that weren’t right for me, started things before I felt ready, failed at things and tried again.

And I think that’s worth something.

Not everything worth doing ends up on your CV. There are no UCAS points for becoming more confident, no degree classification for learning to be comfortable with yourself and no certificate for finally realising that comparing yourself to everyone around you is a terrible way to live. And yet those things might be some of the most important things I’ve learned.

Perhaps that’s what progress actually looks like. It isn’t always a new job, a qualification, a promotion or some impressive achievement you can announce to everyone else. Sometimes it’s simply realising that you’re handling things differently than you would have done a year ago.

I’m still immature

Thankfully.

I think I’ve spent a lot of time assuming that growing up means becoming serious. Getting a proper job, having responsibilities, knowing what you’re doing and eventually developing strong opinions about mortgages.

Terrifying.

But maybe growing up doesn’t mean losing the immature part of yourself. Maybe it means learning when to be serious without forgetting how to have fun.

Because I still want to be excited by stupid things. I still want to say yes to spontaneous plans, laugh until my stomach hurts and occasionally make questionable decisions. Just, ideally, fewer of the ones that involve money.

Being immature isn’t necessarily about refusing to grow up. Sometimes it’s about refusing to become boring, and I quite like that distinction.

So what about the year ahead ?

Ah yes, the new year. The annual opportunity to reinvent ourselves for approximately seventeen days.

Every January, millions of people collectively decide that this is finally the year. New gym membership, new diet, new routine, new personality. By February, half of us are back on the sofa eating something we promised ourselves we’d stop eating.

I’m not interested in pretending I’ll suddenly become a completely different person when the calendar changes. I don’t need a new personality. I probably just need to get slightly better at being the person I already am.

This year, I want to do more things that scare me. Not terrifying things—I’m not planning on taking up skydiving, let’s not get carried away—but things that push me outside of what feels comfortable. I want to say yes more often and stop waiting until I’m completely ready, because I’ve realised something: you rarely feel ready.

You just eventually get tired of waiting.

So you go for it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but either way you learn something.

I don’t want to measure next year by achievements

I think this is where I’ve changed most. I used to think a successful year meant having something impressive to show for it: a promotion, a qualification, a big achievement, a number, something I could point at and say, “Look. I did that.”

I still want those things, obviously. I’m not suddenly enlightened.

But I also want a year filled with things that can’t really be measured. Good conversations, new friendships, late nights, unexpected opportunities, things that make me laugh, things that make me think, places I’ve never been and people who make me see things differently.

And perhaps most importantly, I want a little more confidence in myself. Not the loud, motivational-speaker kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that says, “I’ve got absolutely no idea what I’m doing, but I’ll probably figure it out.”

Because, looking back, that’s basically been my entire life.

And somehow, I’ve survived it.

To the person I was twelve months ago

I’m not sure you’d recognise me. I’m still you, obviously. Still slightly chaotic, still capable of procrastinating with impressive creativity and still occasionally making decisions that make absolutely no sense when viewed objectively.

But I’ve learned a few things.

I’ve learned that not everything needs to happen immediately. I’ve learned that some people are only meant to be in your life for a chapter. I’ve learned that failure isn’t the end of the story and that plans change. Most importantly, I’ve learned that it’s okay not to know what comes next.

I’ve also learned that you’re probably doing better than you think.

So no, I haven’t figured everything out. I don’t have a perfect five-year plan, I don’t know exactly where I’ll be this time next year and I’m still not entirely sure what I’m doing with my life.

And honestly?

I’m starting to think that’s okay.

Because if the last year has taught me anything, it’s that some of the best parts of life are the things you never planned for.

Here’s to another year of figuring it out

So here’s to the next year of Uni: the mistakes, the successes, the awkward conversations, the unexpected opportunities, the questionable decisions, the late nights and the early mornings we definitely won’t enjoy.

Here’s to the people we’ll meet, the people we’ll miss, the things we’ll learn and all the things we haven’t even thought of yet.

I’m going into the new academic year with fewer expectations and a little more confidence. Not because I suddenly know what I’m doing, but because I’ve spent another year proving to myself that I can figure things out as I go.

Maybe that’s what growing up actually is. Not finally becoming an adult who has everything under control, but becoming slightly better at dealing with the chaos.

So here’s to another year.

Another year older. Another year wiser.

And, somehow…

still an immature student.