When was the first time I felt like a grown-up?

Honestly… around age four.
And no, that’s not an exaggeration.

While other kids were chasing bubbles and making mud pies, I was busy managing situations far beyond my pay grade. I was the little adult in the room before I even knew what “taxes” were. People looked at me and saw composure, intelligence, a sense of order. I called it “having no choice.”

By the time I reached school age, I had already learned how to read emotions, navigate adults, and anticipate everyone else’s needs. I was the tiny manager of chaos, the household diplomat, the steady voice when grown-ups forgot how to be steady.

Somewhere in all that early maturity, I missed the memo that childhood was supposed to include… well, childhood.

Adulthood: The Role I Never Auditioned For

For as long as I can remember, people have treated me like an adult. Teachers, relatives, strangers. It wasn’t malicious; it was instinctual. I gave off “responsible energy.” But being perceived as mature doesn’t mean you’re ready for the weight that comes with it.

That’s the thing about forced maturity: it trains you to hold everyone else’s world together while quietly dismantling your own playfulness.

So when people ask, “When did you first feel like an adult?” my answer is, “Since forever.”

But maybe the better question is, when will I finally feel like a kid?

The Desire to Un-Grow Up

I’d love to experience that wild, uncomplicated joy that children have — running barefoot, laughing too loud, not worrying about how I’m perceived or who needs something from me next.

I want to wake up and not calculate ten steps ahead.
I want to chase the ice-cream truck without thinking about gas prices.
I want to play for the sake of play, not productivity.

That, to me, would be the real miracle: feeling safe enough to be carefree.

Humor Keeps Me Human

Sometimes I joke that I was born with a clipboard. My first word was probably “responsibility.” And maybe my second was “therapy.”

But humor has kept me soft. It’s my rebellion against the seriousness that was handed to me too early.
Laughter, at this point, is my form of inner child custody.

The Lesson in Reverse

If adulthood arrived too soon, maybe the real evolution is learning to undo it.
To peel off the armor.
To laugh at inappropriate times.
To trust the moment instead of managing it.

Maybe the highest level of maturity is finally allowing yourself to be innocent again.

So yes, I’ve been an adult since four. But this year, I’m teaching myself to be a kid. And I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be the most responsible thing I’ve ever done.