THE ART OF PRETENDING YOU HAVE YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

My twenties are a thriller that loses me after the tenth plot twist because I genuinely don’t know what the fuck is going on.

My parents had a mortgage and a child at my age, and I cried the other day because I had to make a phone call to cancel an appointment.

Granted, this may suggest I’m just slightly emotionally unstable, but honestly, I think that’s the unofficial personality trait of being in your twenties.

Emotional instability, but with a LinkedIn account.

Some of my friends are engaged, some are smoking weed in a seedy abandoned shed on the weekends.

Me? I’m scrolling through LinkedIn like it’s my job, while actually trying to find a job, all while being simultaneously bombarded by everyone’s achievements like a media megaphone screaming:

“YOU ARE A FAILURE. LOOK HOW AMAZING EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING.”

Also, why the hell is being overqualified even a thing?

I got rejected from a job because I was “overqualified”, which surely should be a good thing? Shouldn’t they be grateful that someone with extra skills and experience actually wants to work there?

Instead, the job basically sent me an insecure breakup text. The classic “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse, except this time it came from a supermarket chain.

Apparently, your twenties don’t just consist of getting ghosted by men. Now even potential employers are joining in.

Don’t even get me started on dating in 2026.

I thought increasing my age range on Hinge would mean I’d attract a more mature and emotionally intelligent man.

Right?

Wrong.

There is a reason 36-year-old Tyler is still single. I’m sure his five Ibiza beach photos and enthusiastic declaration of ‘non-monogamous’, are completely unrelated.

I matched with a 32-year-old man the other week (I’m 23) and thought I’d hit the jackpot.

Finance job, house, dog.

Husband material.

Until his first message was asking me to come round for Netflix and chill and nurse him back to health after a rough night out in Brum.

Sir, I don’t even know your last name.

Apparently, your twenties aren’t too early to become a full-time medical mystery, because I seem to be collecting health issues like Pokémon at this point.

Endometriosis.

PCOS.

A pulmonary embolism!?

Every time I tell someone I’ve had a pulmonary embolism, I get the same confused look that says:

“Aren’t you a bit young to be dealing with all of this?”

Yeah. Tell me about it.

Your twenties are meant to be your carefree years. Not for me, apparently.

I have plenty of care.

In fact, I have so much care that my anxiety has started creating problems that don’t even exist.

I touched a radiator the other day, noticed a tiny bit of rust, and immediately convinced myself I needed a tetanus shot.

At this point, I think I’d prefer a tranquilliser.

I think I probably just need to let loose and go to a party or an event with all my friends.

Oh wait.

I don’t have any.

Why?

Because half of them are in relationships, which means I’ve officially become the third wheel.

Some have moved to other countries, and others have simply drifted apart.

At this point, I could always invite my parents, but they probably wouldn’t come.

They’re too busy hoping I’ll finally move out and stop eating their food.

I’m aware this article is probably better described as a rant, but I need to get it out of my system.

And honestly, I’m hoping at least some people relate, so we can all collectively panic internally together, which, in my humble opinion, sounds far healthier than pretending we have any idea what we’re doing.

The funniest part of all of this is that everyone seems to think I have my shit together.

Which is honestly proof that most people are just winging it.

Because no matter who you ask, they’ll probably think they aren’t doing enough or that they’re a bit lost.

Success is such a weird concept because it’s a target that keeps moving the closer you get to it.

So from now on, I’m going to lean into a little bit of manifestation and pretend I have my shit together, in the hope that eventually I actually will.

But honestly, what does “having your shit together” even mean?

For some people, it’s owning a house and having kids by their mid- to late twenties.

For others, it’s building a successful career.

For me, it’s travelling the world and doing what I love.

Every time I hear someone admit they feel lost, confused, or worried that they haven’t mapped out their entire future yet, I feel a little less alone.

I think we’ve been conditioned to see uncertainty as a bad thing.

But what if we started seeing it differently?

What if being lost isn’t a sign that we’re failing, but a sign that we still have choices?

That we still have the freedom to change direction, try something new, and figure out what actually makes us happy.

Because honestly, how exciting is it that our lives aren’t already written?

If our favourite rom-coms skipped all the messy parts and went straight to the happy ending, they wouldn’t be worth watching.

The uncertainty, the wrong turns, the heartbreak, and the unexpected moments are what make the story.

Life is the same.

We’re all just navigating challenge after challenge, win after win, on completely different timelines.

So maybe we need to put a little less pressure on ourselves to have everything figured out.

Maybe we need to stop treating life like a race we’re already behind in.

Because if we spend all our time worrying about where we’re going, we might miss the fact that we’re already living it.

Maybe having your shit together isn’t about reaching some universal milestone.

Maybe it’s just creating a life that feels right for you.