And just like that, I turned 28.
I was so tempted to be all sad and mopey about the transition into my late twenties, but I realised there would be no point, as I’m actually not sad about it at all. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’m feeling pretty happy about getting older.
I know right, unheard of.
As a woman, I sometimes feel as though I shouldn’t want to get old. Constantly being provided with unwanted advice on how to avoid wrinkles, hide those pesky grey hairs and being told which PT will prevent me from falling victim to my ever decreasing metabolism – and if I’m honest? It gets a little boring. Especially whilst men, in addition to not having to purchase tampons and being legally permitted to take their tops off in public, are also being told they simply get better as they get older; it just doesn’t sit right with me that age, along with our weight, faces and body shape, is just another thing we as women should be made to feel insecure about.
Which is why I am singing the praises of growing up and ushering in my 28th year with open arms.
My 25th and 26th years were the worst. A story for another day, or perhaps never, actually, I basically let two birthdays pass me by, by getting far too drunk, not taking anything particularly seriously (although this still exists in moderation) and making bad decisions left, right and centre, not understanding the true meaning of consequence. Poof, two years, gone.
My 27th birthday, however, was a game changer, bringing with it a real difference in me. Not just in the sense that I moved halfway across the country, but I had a genuine mental growth spurt. As in, I actually felt it happen. I suddenly stopped sweating the small stuff (although I still have my moments), I relaxed into my skin, accepted who I am and took ownership for both my strengths and my flaws.
As fucking cringe as that sounds, it’s true. At 27, I began to grow into myself and realised when Ryan told me ‘things would be okay’ in that thick Yorkshire accent, they really would.
So if you, like me, are edging closer to what ‘they’ deem to be the wrong side of your twenties, embrace it.
Much like a fine wine, it seems shit really does get better with age.
Happy Birthday to me.