I’m feeling 22.

Yesterday, I turned 22. I’d secretly been dreading this day for ages, because I think ’22’ sounds so grown up: a care-free 21 year old no longer, this is the year I have to leave uni, get a job and just generally do adult things. The other day I had a bizarre mini-breakdown, all because I realised that I couldn’t do a French plait. Much to my housemate’s amusement/concern, I proceeded to sit in front of my mirror for a good 45 minutes, watching YouTube tutorial after YouTube tutorial; until I finally resigned myself to failure, convinced that I’d never make it as a fully-functioning adult now.
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Whilst the French plait episode may’ve been a disaster, it led me to mull over the past year, and all the things that I can do. After setting myself the challenge of finishing a sports event (with a steady 5K in mind), in my twenty-first year I completed two lengthy mud runs. My band has recorded a single and won the university Battle of the Bands competition, playing the final at the Cavern Club. I’ve created new friendships and I’m in a new relationship; and I’ve grown in the friendships that I already had. I’ve travelled to different countries. I’ve found a new respect for my body, and now nourish it instead of letting it succumb to the eating disorders I had previously battled.

 

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I’ve fed my love for music by going to amazing gigs, my favourite being when we were on the front row for Fleetwood Mac at Leeds Arena. I’ve given blood; I’ve been supportive when friends and family have needed me most. My weakling arms can now do five full press-ups. I have become more focused in my studies; I have started taking this blog more seriously.
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I could go on to list all the things that I haven’t achieved in the last year, but I’ve come to realise that I am incredibly fortunate to be me. I am flawed, but I’m not half bad, either. And if the coming year is nearly as good as the last, I’m excited and ready to embrace it with open arms.

Soph x

 

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