Is the ‘quarter life crisis’ really a thing?
Some years ago, I had a ‘quarter life crisis’. Arguably, I’m still in one.
It’s a trite pop psychology term, and yes, I do slightly cringe when I use it. But having been through it myself and spoken to many women in their late twenties about this very topic, it turns out – it’s a thing. Though often not openly talked about, the ‘quarter life crisis’ is a social phenomenon that many of us, at least in Western culture, experience to some extent.
So, what is it exactly?
It refers to a period of potent anxiety and self-doubt that people experience in their twenties and thirties. It results from internal and external pressures, including our own belief systems and societal expectations. This represents one of our navigation systems which steers us in the ‘right’ direction (even if that direction is at odds with who we are at a fundamental, human level).
By the time we arrive at this point, we’ve made headway into our adult lives. We’ve set off down a particular path, be that with our careers (or lack thereof), our relationships, or our choice of lifestyle. All the while, we carry the weight of expectation on our backs – expectation for ourselves, expectations that society has for what our life ‘should’ look like. Of course, people wear this pack differently, and some packs will be heavier depending on our experiences and personality. For example, the overthinking and perfectionistic among us are likely to feel the weight more in some ways, or perhaps more chronically.
As our thirties appear on the horizon, that weight becomes heavier and heavier, to the point where we begin to notice it. We readjust the weight, and as we do, we look at the path we’ve already walked, and the path that stretches on ahead of us. You may wonder… should I have chosen a different route? What would it be like to leave the path? And, more to the point… where am I even going?!
If you’re a woman who’s beginning to play with the idea of being parent, you have a fun extra layer to unpack. Your twenties and thirties represent the gates to biological motherhood. We’re told – and to an extent, this is true – that the gates are slowly closing with each passing year, so if you want in, you better get a shift on. All the while your pack gets heavier, the gates are closing, and now you’re breaking a metaphorical sweat. Yay!
Speaking of gates - researchers suggest that there are two types of quarter-life crises: locked-in and locked-out.
The locked-in type of crisis refers to feeling trapped in a situation despite feeling dissatisfied with it.
The locked-out crisis involves not being able to obtain a desired goal, such as saving money or finding a satisfying job.
What I experienced was the former. At a time where I felt I should be killing it in my career, travelling and, on top of it all, having a ‘good time’ – internal and external expectations that were exerting their own form of pressure – the pandemic came out of left field. I’d recently been through a breakup, and suddenly I was back in my hometown, camping in my parents’ spare bedroom, working the first job I could find just to have some form of income. The world shut down, marooning us all on our individual islands. I was fine, all things considered, and so were my family. I am infinitely grateful for that. However, the feeling of being ‘locked in’ lingered it in the background.
My mind rationalised it this way: I had gone backwards. I was failing. I had no savings, no means of living in my own place or even leaving my hometown, because the outside world was effectively closed for business. I didn’t feel independent. I didn’t feel like I was growing. I didn’t feel connected. I found myself lying on my island, staring up at the sky, inert, the feeling of failure seeping through my system like a slow-acting poison and paralysing me to what was, really, quite a pretty view.
Fortunately, I’m no longer on the island – there are wind in my sails again. Though there will be difficult times again, I have a much better idea of how I can support myself when the waters get murky. So, what helped me muddle through?
The answers might sound cliché, but they truly did work for me.
Sitting in it. A therapist I saw during this time told me there was nothing to do but sit with my experience. Back then, I felt terribly frustrated by this. Surely there was something I could do? Some solution, some angle I was missing that would make the puzzle pieces click together? Annoyingly, that therapist was right. Sometimes things happen to us that we have no control over. We may not have control over what happens to us, but we have some degree of choice about how we see it, and how we respond. When you’re in the thick of it, that can be incredibly hard to hear. But any modicum of learning you gain from these experiences is valuable.
Self-reflection. If we’re talking about exerting some control over our responses and mindset, then naturally, we have to turn our attention inward. This isn’t about punishing ourselves for having negative emotions or unhealthy patterns – it’s about becoming aware of our thoughts, of the inner strategies vying for control within us, and developing compassion for ourselves. Meditation and journalling are helpful for this because they train our brains to notice what’s happening in our experience. It’s that analogy of stepping out of the river - you won’t stop the river churning, but with practice, you can avoid getting totally swept away by it. It’s worth bearing in mind that this is not a quick fix – it’s an iterative process of learning and change. This can be painful at times, and that’s OK.
Coaching. I didn’t intend this to be a plug for coaching, but here we are – yes, coaching was one of the biggest catalysts of change for me. Coaching is future and action-focussed, supporting you to look deeper at yourself and enacting change within the parameters of your situation. The value of being truly, deeply listened to by somebody independent, who has no skin in the game and is completely focussed on your experience, cannot be understated. Coaching helped me discover my values and challenge the beliefs that were holding me back, giving me the drive and motivation to take action where I could. It was how I got started in my journey as a coach myself and my ongoing training to be a therapist.
The fact is, there is no map to life. We have the navigation system I spoke of earlier – the internal and external pressures, the script we form in response to our environment, community and caregivers, manifesting as the ‘should’ voice in our lives. Then there’s the other navigation system, the one you might call intuition. Intuition is based on our values, our subconscious, our deeper knowing. It’s our true selves speaking to us. That is the navigation system to pay attention to – the one that will, one way or another, gently guide you toward a future that is aligned with who you are and who you are meant to be.
The key is trusting ourselves and our journey - even when the waters get rough.