Growing Up While Already Grown

There’s a particular kind of embarrassment in realizing you still have a lot of growing up to do… while you’re already an adult.

From the outside, I looked “grown” years ago. Job, responsibilities, people who depended on me. Bills with my name on them. A calendar full of obligations.

From the inside, though, parts of me felt stuck at fifteen—scared of conflict, desperate to be liked, terrified of being abandoned, certain that if people saw the real me, they’d leave.

For a long time, I thought maturity meant getting better at hiding those parts.

Now I’m starting to suspect it might mean the opposite.

The polished mask

I got good at presenting a version of myself that felt acceptable:

• Easygoing
• Reliable
• Capable
• “Fine”

If something hurt me, I swallowed it.
If I was scared, I rationalized it away.
If I needed help, I convinced myself I was overreacting.

On the rare occasions when the mask slipped—when I snapped, or shut down, or felt too much—I’d feel a rush of shame afterwards. There it is. Proof that I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be.

So I’d double down. Work harder. Be nicer. Over-function. Anything to avoid facing the younger, messier parts of me that kept slipping through the cracks.

Then life, as it tends to, stopped cooperating with the mask.

When the old strategies stop working

Stress piled up. Relationships got more complicated. The neat boxes I’d put everything in started to overflow.

The strategies that once kept me safe—perfectionism, avoidance, staying busy, staying quiet—began to cost more than they gave. I was exhausted from holding everything together. I was resentful and didn’t know how to say so. I was lonely even when surrounded by people who cared.

Eventually, I found myself in therapy, trying to explain why someone with a “good life on paper” felt like he was falling apart.

My therapist listened, nodded, and then said something that landed harder than I expected:

“It sounds like there’s a younger you who’s been running the show for a long time.”

I wanted to argue. To insist that I was responsible and mature and fully in control. But somewhere in my body, something unclenched. I knew she was right.

Meeting the younger me

“Inner child” language can sound cheesy, but here’s what it meant for me: imagining that the scared, hyper-vigilant, people-pleasing parts of me weren’t flaws to be fixed, but younger versions of me who never got what they needed.

Not enough safety.
Not enough reassurance.
Not enough space to feel without being told to toughen up or move on.

So those younger parts took on big jobs:

• “If I anticipate everyone’s needs, maybe they won’t leave.”
• “If I never express anger, maybe I won’t be rejected.”
• “If I stay small and agreeable, maybe I’ll be loved.”

They were trying to protect me. They just didn’t know they were still driving an adult life.

Growing up, it turns out, isn’t about shaming those parts into silence. It’s about gently taking the keys back.

Learning to re-parent myself

No one can go back and rewrite their childhood. But we can start offering ourselves what we didn’t get enough of.

For me, that looks like:

• Validation. “Of course you’re scared. That makes sense.” Instead of: “You’re being ridiculous.”
• Boundaries. Saying no even when my people-pleaser is screaming that I’m being selfish.
• Honesty in relationships. Naming that something hurt instead of swallowing it and then simmering in silence.
• Self-compassion after mistakes. Talking to myself the way I’d talk to a close friend instead of punishing myself for days.

None of this comes naturally. My default is still to over-explain, over-apologize, and over-function. But every time I choose a new response, it’s like telling that younger version of me:

“I’ve got you now. You don’t have to handle this alone anymore.”

Growing sideways, not just up

I used to think “growth” meant a straight upward line: always improving, always getting more resilient, more confident, more capable.

In reality, my growth looks more like a messy scribble:

• some steps forward
• some back
• some sideways into entirely new terrain

There are days when I handle something with a level of grace that surprises me. There are other days when I’m tired and hungry and suddenly I’m reacting like a teenager again.

But even on the messy days, there’s a fundamental difference: I’m not pretending it’s not happening. I can see it, name it, apologize when I need to, and try again.

That, to me, is growing up while already grown.

If you feel behind on your own life

If you’ve ever looked around and thought, Everyone else seems to know how to do this. Why don’t I?—you’re not alone.

Maybe you’re still learning how to have hard conversations.
Maybe you’re just now realizing your needs matter.
Maybe you’re starting therapy later than you wish you had.

It’s okay.

There’s no deadline on becoming more yourself. No age at which you’re suddenly disqualified from doing the work.

We don’t get to go back and choose different beginnings. But we do get to choose, again and again, how we show up now.

We get to grow while already grown.