With each birthday, I find myself battling the same feelings: a nagging fear that I haven’t accomplished “enough” by now. This isn’t a fear of aging in itself; it’s the pressure to have checked off certain milestones, hit specific goals, or somehow achieved something extraordinary. It feels like everyone around me has it all figured out—or at least, that’s what social media makes it seem like.
Scrolling online doesn’t exactly help. Seeing stories of seemingly effortless success—like Ryan from Ryan’s World hitting multi-millionaire status before kindergarten—makes me laugh but also think, "Wow, why didn’t I think of that at five?" I mean, what could I possibly have been doing at that age? It’s funny, but there’s also a real pang behind it, a sense of "am I doing enough?"
It’s easy to get swept into comparing my own path with what I see online, especially when I’ve been on social media since my teen years. Social media often showcases the polished final product but hides the struggles, the setbacks, and the sleepless nights that lead to those “overnight” successes. We rarely see the challenges or sacrifices that make up the journey, so it’s tempting to believe that success comes easily for everyone but ourselves. And of course, I know many people also love to present an idealized version of their lives—one that isn’t entirely accurate. But knowing that doesn’t always make it easier.
When these fears come up, I remind myself of a few truths. First, everyone’s timeline is different. I’m proud of where I am and what I’ve built, even if it’s still evolving. I also focus on practicing what I post. I want to be genuine in my online presence, sharing not just the highlights but the real, messy parts too.
Aging doesn’t have to be a reminder of what hasn’t happened yet; it can be an exciting sign of what’s still possible. My journey is mine alone, and while it’s okay to feel a little fearful, I’m also learning to embrace each year as an opportunity to grow, to learn, and to keep creating a life that’s authentically mine—at my own pace.
xoxo,
Ale