Dirty thirty

When I was sixteen I was certain I’d have it all figured out by now. My sixteen year old self had me married off at 25, 28 at the absolute upper limit, with sprogs following in quick succession until my pelvic floor shrieks ‘HALT.’  And of course, amidst all of these undigested expectations of womanhood, I’d have definitely played at the National, at least twice.

I turn 30 in a matter of weeks… This is a letter to my sixteen year-old self:

Dear Kathryn,

Didn’t quite make the targets you set me. It was all going pretty much to plan, top university education, flounced across a few stages, bagged you a scholarly boyfriend early on: fell passionately in love (sacked off the degree a bit, but you know, love conquers all) and moved in for our ‘happily ever after’ by the time you are 25.

Thing is, he was a bit of a shit. I won’t go into it now, because you’re going to have to figure this stuff out for yourself, but love is blinkered and fogs up your barometers. I ignored my instincts because I thought I was falling in line, I’d bought the fairytale hook line and sinker, and then sank. (We made a schoolgirl error there me old girl, fairytales are all written by men).

Anyway, that whole shit storm took some time to get over. I had to leave my home, city, country for a bit. Clear my head. Make sure he wasn’t still following me, that sort of thing.

I just want you to know that it’s ok, I’m ok. In fact, I’m fucking brilliant. Yes I am over-qualified and unemployed. No, I’m not married, or looking like getting married, or having babies, or buying a house or any of the other stuff you are so sure I would do to put footholds in life’s cliff face.

I’m going to make my own stuff. Really, I’m going to write our story and other stories and tell them. Maybe for money, maybe not. I might go back to university, get another masters; I’m thinking psychotherapy. You’ll briefly consider it as a degree option when you pick your IB subjects, and then discard it because you don’t want to have to do a science at higher; but it’s ok, because I can pick up that baton for you now.

Basically what I’m telling you is, it took this long to get here. Stop frowning like that; it’s giving me a semi-permanent crease in my forehead. Trust me, here is good, and the view is breathtaking. I can fill a courtyard full of people I know and love, who bring me riches you can’t bank and feed me brimful with joy. And they all tell you a bit about every turn in the road, every crossroad, every time I tripped over, every time I decided yet again to ‘fuck it and see what happens’. There’s a person in your life for every single decision you made, and when you get here you’ll not want to unmake any of them, I promise.

So, I’m sorry if I’m not who you thought I would be, but I’m not done yet.

Good luck with your IGCSEs (you’re gonna ace them).

Lots of love,

Me xxx