I was not a happy teenager. I didn’t particularly like the high school scene, the ridiculous courses, the boring teachers, and the regimented schedule. I used to dream of finally being a grown up and being allowed to make my own decisions. I idolized adulthood.

Then I hit eighteen and nothing magical happened. Surely I’d feel like a grown up in university, though, right? Or maybe when I landed my first full-time job?

Nope.

Many of my friends seemed comfortable in their skin. They knew who they were, and they weren’t afraid of letting others know where they stood. But I was still waiting for some magical writing from heaven to appear and label me, once and for all, an adult, so that I could feel capable, mature, and competent, too.

Unfortunately the writing failed to materialize. And yet, sometime in the last few decades, I must have crossed an invisible line. It may not have been accompanied by thunderous applause, but I definitely passed from mini-me to fully-me. Even though I can’t define the precise mode of this miraculous transformation, I can tell you the results.

I knew I was a grown up when it came to men when I could stop asking, “Does he like me?”, and start asking, “Do I like him?” And when the answer was yes, I married him.

When it came to children, I knew I was a grown up when I stopped worrying what other people thought of my kids’ behavior or development and just concentrated on being the best mom I could be.

I was a grown up, too, when I stopped pulling out the makeup and the mousse to impress other people, but just started doing it to make myself feel pretty. When I started prioritizing feeling good in my body, I felt like a grown up in it, too.

I was a grown up when I could calmly talk to a salesperson about what their establishment had done that was beyond the pale, instead of letting them walk all over me.

I was a grown up when I could invite people over for dinner and not worry about whether they’d like what I prepared. I’d just cook what I liked, and figured everybody else would make do.

I was a grown up when I called my mom for her advice, and not her approval.

I was a grown up when the fact that my father didn’t understand me became a cause for pity for him, rather than for angst, anger, or introspection on my behalf.

I was a grown up when I started letting myself dream dreams, instead of living out the dreams other people thought I should have.

I felt like a grown up when I acted like others were my equals, instead of feeling insecure around those who were of higher rank or status than I was.

I felt like a grown up when I could pray with other women in my church, even older ones, and feel like I could offer some counsel.

I felt like a grown up when I could run into an acquaintance and have a conversation and not remember until the next day that I was supposed to be mad at them. I guess I don’t carry grudges the same way anymore.

And I know I’m a grown up now that I can admit my faults to other people rather than trying to pretend to be perfect. I know now that there’s no point in pretending.

I felt like a grown up now because I’m realizing that this isn’t my life; the next life is my real life. This is only preparation. So I think I can let go of things a lot easier now and not worry so much what other people think.

And I knew I was a grown up when I stopped worrying about whether or not I was one. I don’t have to wait for my life to start; I have to make my life what I believe God wants it to be. This is my life; it’s up to me to live it. After all, I am a grown up, even if it’s been a long time coming.

Sheila blogs daily at To Love, Honor and Vacuum. And you won’t want to miss her podcasts! She homeschools her two daughters, writes, speaks, and knits. Preferably all at the same time.