I have been observing my growth into adulthood for quite some time. I think that no matter what anyone claims, just because you are 18 (and over) it does classify you as an adult.
IMHO, being adult comes with crazy responsibility. It means dealing with being able to make rent/mortgage every month, being covered with insurance, paying your bills, and still having a little to wil’out for a minute. It comes with stress and anxiety and the constant reminder to hustle, cause if you don’t, no one else is going to cover your ass. Lucky for me, I had dope parents to set me on this path, I can’t thank them enough.
For the first time in life, I get out of bed and trek to work because of the well-being of someone else.
I go to work so I can help support my husband and the life we’re making together.
Holy fuck, can this be it? I’m a fully-fledged adult?
A few days ago I realized—as hard as it was to get out of bed and leave the man in the comfortable sheets and warm bed, it would be even harder to disappoint him. It hit me like a flood. The husband is literally the reason I get out of bed every morning. I learned how to hustle from him, because for a while, while I was accepting unemployment and being less productive with my life, he was the one working himself to the bone, 11 hours a day. Although I wasn’t his wife yet at the time, he took care of me like I already was, and he knew he had to be a grown man and handle his bizness.
My… how far we have grown together, from embarrassing and awkward public fights in our teenage years to 9 years later and holding it down for one another.
He’s even prepping our taxes for us, as our first year as a husband & wife.
Fugg. I’m here. This is it, isn’t it? Adulthood?
Shit. What an intense revelation.