I wanted to grow up so bad. Why? Being an adult means you are constantly putting out fires. You are constantly writing emails to advocate for fair treatment, fair pay, fair healthcare, etc… Adulting is hard.
Why the f*** didn’t someone warn me like 75 times?
I look back now and understand why my Mother sat alone at the dining table, with a cocktail in hand, and she cried her face off. She used to burst out in tears and I would simply hug her, not knowing the depths of her depression.
I know now. Life was crushing her spirit. Day by day. Being poor with little job options due to ageism left her hopeless. And here I was a mouth to feed and I was pulling far away because we didn’t see eye to eye. Yikes, shit was hard for her.
I understand my Mother more now after her death, and in my middle age, than I ever understood her in life.
Adulting, adulthood, adult tasks, hustle, hustle, hustle.
And Black American folks are tired because we have to adult under the weighted blow of the American apartheid we live in.
Now I am not out here telling kids they shouldn’t grow up. Noooooo, everybody has got to evolve, but someone should have told me that this was so hard. That’s all I would have liked. I would have liked someone to hand me the cliff notes to adulting before I actually became an adult.