I saw a quote on Facebook the other day:
“By age 40, you should have figured out how to spell bananas without having to mentally sing ‘Hollaback Girl.’”
I laughed out loud which felt especially appropriate because today is my 44th birthday, and I still have to sing it.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
Yep. Called out and fully seen at the same time.
It’s funny how one silly little joke can crack open a question you didn’t know you’d been carrying. If I still need Gwen Stefani’s help spelling bananas, what else am I “supposed” to know by now but don’t?
I figured my first “real job” would do the trick. Surely nothing says “official adult” like a salaried position, a business casual wardrobe, and a keycard that opens exactly one door.
But no one tells you that you’ll spend your first month Googling what “per my last email” actually means or quietly wondering if you’re even allowed to ask where the bathroom is.
Then I thought marriage would be the moment. Surely standing in front of family and friends, saying forever vows, would make me feel grown-up.
But honestly?
We didn’t feel like adults.
We felt like a couple of young kids—probably because we were very young—signing up for a lifetime commitment and somehow still not feeling like we had any business making grown-up decisions.
Buying a house had to be it, right?
Nothing screams “responsible adult” like signing a mortgage and mowing your own lawn.
Except I spent half of closing day pretending I knew what “escrow” meant, and the other half standing in my new kitchen, overwhelmed by the idea of unpacking—because what if I put the forks in the wrong drawer and regret it for the next decade?
And then came parenting.
If anything was going to make me feel qualified, surely it would be this.
Bringing a whole human into the world?
Nope.
They just let you leave.
You walk out of the hospital with a tiny, squishy, screaming person in a car seat you’re pretty sure you installed upside down and the nurse just smiles, waves, and says, “Good luck!”
Every milestone I thought would make me feel like a grown-up ended up feeling more like…
“Wait… they’re letting me do this? Are they sure?”
It turns out, milestones don’t make you feel qualified.
You do the thing—and figure it out as you go.
I honestly thought there’d be a manual.
Or at least a secret society. A badge.
Maybe a woman in sensible flats whispering,
“Here’s how to fold a fitted sheet without cussing in front of your kids. And here’s how to host a family holiday without losing your religion or your last nerve.”
But nope.
No guidebook.
No welcome packet.
No secret ceremony in a dimly lit church basement.
Just me—Googling how to roast a chicken… again…
While Gwen Stefani hums quietly in the back of my head.
It turns out, most of adulthood is pretending you know what you’re doing until a pop song, a Pinterest hack, or your mom confirms you’re at least in the ballpark.
I used to think adulthood came with a moment when everything just clicked.
One morning I’d wake up, know how taxes work, and casually toss around words like “deductible” and “vesting” without breaking a sweat.
Spoiler: That moment never showed up.
So instead of pretending I’ve got it all figured out, here’s a short, deeply humbling, absolutely incomplete list of things I honestly thought I’d have mastered by now:
- How to stop bath towels from smelling like a damp crypt after three washes
- What “APR” means—and whether mine is fine or financial quicksand
- How to say “charcuterie” without mumbling halfway through
- How to keep houseplants alive longer than a carton of milk in my fridge
- How to leave a voicemail without sounding like I’m calling about a ransom
- What all those laundry symbols actually mean (seriously, is that a cup? A triangle? A warning?)
- How to open a can of biscuits without mentally preparing for battle
- How to read a recipe all the way through before realizing I needed to marinate something overnight
- How to not pull a muscle just standing up too fast
- How not to sleep wrong and wake up with a full-blown neck injury
- How to sneeze without somehow tweaking my back
- How to answer “Do you want your receipt?” without overthinking the social contract
And of course… how to spell bananas without Gwen Stefani coaching me through it.
Because apparently… all of this IS bananas.
Then there are those sneak-attack moments—the ones that whisper,
Hey… you’re the adult now.
Like when:
- “Gangsta’s Paradise” plays at the dentist and is officially a classic on the oldies soft rock station
- Your intern says, “Oh, I didn’t know Justin Timberlake used to be in a band,” and your vision goes blurry
- You say, “Let’s head home before dark” completely seriously
- You flip open your pill organizer like it’s a mini advent calendar for high blood pressure and acid reflux
- You Google slang to confirm that “mid” is, in fact, an insult
- Your high school fashion trend comes back—and they call it “vintage”
- A 22-year-old calls you “ma’am” and you don’t even flinch
- You and your spouse both strap into CPAP machines at night like you’re co-piloting a spaceship instead of just trying to survive eight hours of sleep apnea together
- You bought a robot vacuum and named it Dua Sweepa—because apparently, peak adulthood is outsourcing your chores to a tiny machine you can treat like a co-worker
The world thinks we’ve got this because we have jobs, mortgages, and can bake a lasagna when needed. But inside? Most of us still feel like we’re walking around in our mom’s shoes hoping no one notices we have no idea what we’re doing.
Adulthood is just showing up anyway.
No spotlight. No script.
Just a shaky voice asking questions—even when you’re scared they’ll sound dumb.
It’s holding a family together when everything feels like chaos.
It’s making the call when no one else will.
It’s caring for people even when you’re running on empty.
It’s apologizing. Recommitting. Trying again.
Some days, it’s cobbling together dinner from fridge scraps.
Some days, it’s dragging yourself to your kid’s concert when you’re dead on your feet.
Some days, it’s choosing not to snap in the grocery store.
Some days, it’s remembering to refill the prescription before it runs out.
That’s the manual.
We’re writing it in real time—on sticky notes and grocery lists, in whispered prayers and late-night pep talks.
And maybe…
It was never about having all the answers.
So if today you had to sing a pop song to spell a fruit,
Or you texted your mom for stain removal advice,
Or you stared at your phone like scheduling an eye appointment was a pop quiz you didn’t study for—
You’re not failing.
You’re not behind.
You’re just writing your chapter.
One Google search,
One slightly overcooked dinner,
One “does this look infected?” text thread at a time.
Life is bananas.
And honestly? So are we.
But maybe that’s not the problem.
Maybe that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
Because the real grown-up job isn’t mastering everything.
It’s leaving breadcrumbs.
Little clues for the next person trying to fold a fitted sheet,
Schedule a dentist appointment,
Or spell bananas without Gwen Stefani’s help.
A text that says, “You don’t have to know everything. You’re doing just fine.”
A meme that makes someone feel seen.
A conversation where you admit, “Yeah… I still Google that too.”
A quiet kind of mentorship that whispers:
Here’s what helped me. Just in case it helps you.
Because maybe adulthood isn’t about arriving at expertise.
Maybe it’s just about holding the door open for someone else—
While still trying to remember where you left your own keys.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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