when does someone become a "grown up"?

My lab mates and I had an interesting talk at lunch today. One asked another, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" The reply was "When I grow up? I thought I was already grown up."

And there starting the wondering aloud and musing and trying to define what a "grown up" really is. Despite being in their twenties and living on their own, most of the people around me didn't really consider themselves to be grown up. Maybe because we're all still technically "students"? Does that automatically mean we aren't adults?

It was a strange discussion. I was mainly quiet. I had my own points of view, but it was hard to talk about them with people who didn't know much about my past.

Someone offered, "You're a grown up when you willingly and seriously take on responsibility for another person. Like having children, and taking care of them properly."

Which made me wonder - what about taking care of parents? It wasn't something I "willingly" took on, exactly. I do, willingly, look after them. Especially Mom. But it's not something that was ever really a choice for me.People choose to have children (well, usually). I didn't choose for my parents to be disabled.

But maybe mine's a bit of an unusual situation.

Another said, "You're a grown up when you have a responsibility to the world. When you do something important, when you contribute."

I did reply to that one. I pointed out there are lots of people who fancy themselves adults, and who don't contribute anything responsibly to the world. And there are lots of people who do contribute to the world, and who aren't of legal age yet.

Another: "I don't really consider myself an adult. I still feel like I can pretty well do whatever I want."

To me, doing what you want is part of being grown up. No one viewed as a child, or teenager even, gets to do whatever they want.

It's past lunch now, and I'm still thinking about it. I do consider myself an adult now. Usually. I'm not sure when the transition point came.

Maybe when I moved out of my parents' house? Not just because it would mean I would be responsible for my own rent, car insurance, bills, groceries, etc. But because it was a decision I made responsibly, knowing that it was what I needed to do.

But then, I've made other decisions like that. Responsible, well-thought out decisions. Like breaking up with someone I loved, because he was toxic and unwilling to do anything to improve the situation.

Even though I usually consider myself an adult, there are times when I'm so frightened and panicked, I feel like a child again. And then it's even more important to remind myself that I'm an adult. Because an adult has more resources than a child. An adult has had time to grow, to become more capable, to be able to take care of herself. An adult feels safer in the world than a child does.

I've been told I grew up too quickly.

Mainly, I've been told that by people who also say I'm mature or responsible or whatever for my age. But saying I grew up too quickly seems at odds with the way I've felt for most of my life. If an adult has more resources, feels more in control, feels safer, then I was late to feel like an adult.

Maybe I was in some sort of age limbo. I had a short childhood; I didn't have a lot of times when I felt carefree and innocent. But I haven't felt in control or competent most of my life either.

I think the important thing, is that I feel like an adult (more often than not), now. It doesn't matter when or how I got here.

the hazards of icing

I baked a birthday cake for someone last night. Four-layered, double chocolate. It got loads of compliments today. The person I baked it for told the newer people in the lab that my baking was "famous".

There was a time, not all that long ago, when baking would inevitably turn into a form of self-punishment. Only about half of what I started baking would ever make it to the person I was baking for; I would end up eating the rest, whether still as batter and icing or actually in baked form, and then I would end up throwing it up. It was totally impulsive and uncontrollable. Some part of me would clue in to what was happening, and realize it was crazy and pointless, and that part of me would want to stop...but it was like that part was distant, locked up somewhere inside, an observer unable to interfere with what she saw.

But that didn't happen last night. Last night I baked like a normal person. Actually, not quite - a normal person probably would have tasted the batter before it went into the oven, would have tasted the icing before putting it on the cake, possibly would have licked the mixing spoon clean. I didn't; I avoided the spoons and bowls as if they were coated with poison; but that's still much better than what I used to do.

And then I had a slice of cake with everyone else today. No big deal. Just a normal slice of cake.

It still amazes me, how such normal, seemingly small things feel like such accomplishments. But I'm proud of them all the same.

sickening

Comment made by a police officer, giving a safety talk on sexual harassment and sexual assault at a university:

“You know, I think we’re beating around the bush here. I’ve been told I’m not supposed to say this, however, women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.”

More on that story here.

Wow.

Just wow.

And there is apparently quite a bit of controversy over this - some people saying the officer shouldn't have had to apologize, that he was just giving practical advice, and that some women need to hear the truth, that the way they dress can invite unwanted attention.

But that is just so damned narrow of a view to take. It leaves so many victims unaccounted for - conservatively dressed women can still be raped. So can children. And it implies that the victims of sexual assault are to blame for what happened to them, that they somehow provoked it. It's disgusting.

And I sure wasn't dressed like a slut when I was eight.

Just had to get that off my chest.

not

Not an infection.
Not a blood clot.
Not more cancer.

Nothing is wrong with Mom's heart.

They saw shadows at first, but they did more tests, and that's all they were - shadows.

Although...she does have an apparently benign tumor in her brain;
and the cancer in her lungs is starting to grow again, so that means more chemo;
and it's likely the chemo that started her internal bleeding problems in the first place.

But still, I'll take good news when I find it.

There's nothing wrong with her heart.

no hugs

I agreed to go out for coffee with my high school friends tomorrow. I told them it would have to be downtown, because Mom's still in the hospital, and my days lately consisting of waking up, going to school, going to the gym (at school), going to the hospital (10 minutes from school), and going back home at the end, exhausted, to sleep. So we're going somewhere downtown.

They all said something along the lines of "If you need anything, if there's anything I can do, let me know." All I could think of was to ask that they not hug me when they see me. I hate it when I'm upset and pretending I'm not and people go and hug me. I know it's meant to be comforting, but it makes me cry, and I hate crying in front of people. And now it's agreed, there will be no hugging.

I told my boyfriend about going out for coffee, and about not wanting any hugs. "But if someone hugs you, and you start crying, that means you're not okay."

No, but sometimes pretending to be okay is all I've got.

No word yet on how long Mom will have to stay there. They've found something suspicious in her heart -  possibly a blood clot, possibly a part of the infection in her blood that may have spread to the heart, possibly a part of the kidney cancer that may have spread to the heart. I didn't think hearts could even get cancer. Apparently they can; it's just extremely rare.

sometimes

the effort of staying sane is exhausting