i have no idea what i'm doing.

every now and then it hits me that i'm the adult in the room. it never stops being a little surprising. i sign important documents. people ask me questions as if i know the answers. i have meetings. i raise two children. i make doctor's appointments. i pay taxes. occasionally i even remember to buy toilet paper before we run out. from the outside, i probably look like a reasonably functioning adult. from the inside, i'm still slightly surprised every time someone trusts me with literally anything. sometimes i'll be sitting in a meeting, nodding along like i absolutely belong there, and a tiny voice in my head whispers, "they know you're just making this up as you go, right?" apparently not. because they keep inviting me back. parenthood hasn't exactly helped. the hospital handed us a tiny human and somehow expected us to know what we were doing. no exam. no practical test. just... "good luck." i've spent years wondering if every other parent secretly received a manual that somehow got lost in our post. judging by the conversations i've had, i don't think they did.

the funny thing is, whenever i admit that i don't always know what i'm doing, people usually laugh... and then admit they don't either. suddenly the masks come off. the confident colleague isn't always confident. the parent with colour-coded lunchboxes also forgets school trips. the couple who seem to have life figured out still argue over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. what a relief. maybe that's why i've stopped chasing the feeling of finally becoming a proper adult. i'm starting to suspect there isn't a finish line where someone hands you a certificate that says, "congratulations. you now understand life."

maybe growing up isn't about finally knowing what you're doing. maybe it's about becoming comfortable enough to laugh when you realise nobody else does either.