Every age is an age of change. An age of discovery, learning, adapting and becoming, as we strive to find the optimum balance between who we are now, the best possible versions of our ever-changing selves.
I’m 16. I long for “space” and alone time, away from the constant “How was school?” and “Why aren’t you studying?” questions. I spend a lot of time making plans to go out, and sleep out at friends at every opportunity. When I’m stuck at home, I spend the time holed up in my room, listening to music, drawing, writing in my diary, and waiting for the phone to ring.
Freedom and independence is the goal, but I’m not ready yet to be on my own. I’m reliant on my parents for everything from school fees to a roof over my head and clothes on my back. I’m also a bit hazy about exactly what “independence” means. I daydream about meeting my ideal boy and running off with him. Independence apparently involves relying on someone else, then.
I’m 19. I’m a second year university student, still living with my parents, but I now have a part time job that allows me to pay for my weekend night-clubbing and G&T habit. Some of my uni courses are opening my eyes to issues that I’d never considered. I’m becoming a rampant feminist. I’ll never rely on a man for anything, I resolve. I’ll earn my own money, and be an independent, strong woman.
My part-time salary doesn’t quite cover my quirky goth/grunge fashion choices, though, so the independent, strong woman part of the plan has to be put on hold while I ask my dad for money to buy clothes.
I’m 25. I’m newly married, with a job and a driver’s licence. It’s around this time that I’m drawn to the term, “fiercely independent”. I want to learn to change a tyre, become self-reliant. I find myself grappling with the dichotomy of wanting independence and being married.
I’m 30, much to my horror. Kid 1 has just been born. We buy our first house. It’s tiny – I can touch either side of the bathroom without stretching much at all – but it’s ours. I feel I’ve arrived.
It’s not quite the arrival I’d been waiting for, though. I seem to have unintentionally become a dependant of the bank, which has financed my university loan, my bond, and my car. I’ll be reliant on it for a long time and I’ll have to consider carefully any travel or crazy career moves.
I’m 36. I have three dependants: Kids 1 to 3, all under the age of eight. We’re onto our third car and our second home. While the university loan is a distant memory, the car and bond repayments still loom large. I feel as though the bank owns us.
I toy with the idea of resigning to become a freelance writer, but I can’t quite picture how to achieve it without putting my family at risk. It feels reckless to abandon a secure, permanent position, in a field in which I’ve qualified. What would we do without that safety net? Where would we live? How would we live? I realise that we’ve become entirely dependent on my full time job and the salary it provides.
I’m me, now. I’m the age that you can’t bring yourself to say out loud, and you hope you don’t look. Aside from the home loan, I’m free of my bank dependency. It took a clever friend’s advice and help, and seven long years of saving and deprivation, but I’ve done it.
I’m no longer grappling with the dichotomy of marriage and independence, because I’ve learned that the two aren’t in opposition. A divorce, a brief stint of single and co-parenting, and a second marriage have taught me that I can simultaneously be an independent woman and someone who depends on others.
Looking back on my quest for independence, I realise it’s not quite the straight path I envisioned. If the ultimate goal is total independence, I’m not doing terribly well. It’s not as simple as all that, though. For me, life seems to be a series of dependent and independent phases. I’m ok with that. 25-year-old me would be proud: I can change a tyre if I feel like it, but I choose to delegate that job to someone else.
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