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100LittleButterflies t1_ir0rcvx wrote

Reply to comment by reddituser5379 in [Image] | There is no “one size that fits all” in life by thisisbarbie

I spent my 20s on my mental health. Now I'm only just working on a house, marriage, kids. I may look like I'm behind but I'm the only calm head when something bad happens.

We all take different paths.

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reddituser5379 t1_ir0vtd2 wrote

Im glad it worked out for you. I followed a similar path, marriage, house, kids all came later for me than my friends. But you and I both know, Kids for instance have a timetable, cant wait forever to have them. This messaging is fine and all for 20 somethings or younger but this starts to stop making sense when you are in your thirties. IMO of course, wish you the best.

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100LittleButterflies t1_ir11o85 wrote

That's a good point and something I noticed.

School aged people 100% have a timeline. For their school grade, physical, mental, social, and emotional ability. Missing mile markers is often cause for concern.

But in your 20s there so many different paths you can take but in your 30s some of those paths become harder to return from for simple biological reasons.

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Smarterthanlastweek t1_ir2rg5c wrote

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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