The Unbearable Heaviness of Being a Young Adult
I work with a lot of people under 30 these days. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Maybe it points to a wider trend, where people in their late teens and twenties are finding things particularly tough right now. Or maybe it’s just how things have fallen by chance. Either way, a few patterns keep catching my eye, and I find these worth sharing.
One big thing I’ve noticed is how little we talk about the transition into adulthood. We all know about the “terrible twos”. We talk endlessly about puberty, and more recently, menopause has thankfully become part of mainstream conversation. But what about that moment when school ends, and all the familiar structures fall away, when family safety nets loosen, and sometimes the financial support falls away too? Suddenly, you’re out in the world, expected to fend for your own, find a job, a partner, a purpose, a life. It’s a huge transition, and surprisingly, one we hardly name or acknowledge.
I think those of us who grew up as young adults in the ’80s or ’90s lived in a very different climate. There was this general sense of hope — of things expanding. Globalisation was opening up the world or at least we thought so, job markets were growing, the internet was exciting and full of promise. Climate change wasn’t yet felt as an existential threat, and crucially, the news didn’t pour into our brains all day. You’d maybe read the paper, find a few grim stories on page three, and that felt like a manageable dose of reality.
Today’s young people (it makes me feel so old to say this:) are living in a completely different atmosphere. The climate crisis feels personal and immediate. There’s endless talk about AI and job losses. Wars, famine, disasters; they seep into daily life through every glowing screen, every minute of every hour. And on top of that, social media keeps broadcasting the message that everyone, everyone except you, has it all together. While you are doomscrolling, everyone else is launching businesses, skiing in the Alps, glowing with purpose and success. Against that kind of backdrop, the ordinary, messy work of figuring out who you are can feel impossibly heavy.
So, what seems to help? When I ask the under-30s I work with what actually makes a difference, the answers are often beautifully ordinary. Less scrolling, more real connection. Time with people who know you as a whole person, not a profile. Things like:
• Going for a walk with a friend and talking about nothing in particular.
• Cooking with a housemate or a parent and chatting about what to eat, rather than what you’re doing with your life.
• Playing with a dog or a cat and letting your mind wander.
• Doing something absorbing with your hands, drawing, gaming, gardening, baking, or knitting, without needing to post the result.
These moments don’t magically solve the climate crisis, fix job insecurity, or answer the big “What am I doing with my life?” question. But they do seem to create small pockets of steadiness. They remind us that being human is not a project to be optimised; it’s a relationship, with ourselves, with others, and with the world around us.
If you’re in your late teens or twenties and feeling overwhelmed, it might be worth quietly acknowledging that you’re navigating a transition that’s both personal and historical. You’re doing the age-old work of becoming an adult, but you’re doing it in a time that is unusually noisy, anxious and demanding. Perhaps the most compassionate thing you can offer yourself is not another five-year plan, but a bit more gentleness, some honest conversation, and a few more of those small, ordinary, human moments that make life feel bearable, and sometimes even hopeful again.
