Did Growing Up Mean I Had to Start Proving Myself?
A Few Days Ago, I Picked Up a Book
A few days ago, I picked up a book from the club library — PS I Love You. It was sitting quietly on the shelf, slightly worn at the edges. I hadn’t planned to borrow anything. I was just passing by.
But I brought it home.
That evening, I made tea and sat down to read. Two chapters in, I felt something soften inside me — the familiarity of emotion, the simplicity of being absorbed in a story that doesn’t demand analysis or depth.
And then I sensed it.
A brief glance from my husband. Not judgmental, not harsh — just curious. A subtle, almost amused look. Later, when I mentioned it to a friend, she laughed lightly and said, “Who reads this?”
It was casual. Harmless, even.
But something inside me tightened.
I became aware of myself reading it. As if I needed to explain why. As if my choice required justification.
And in that small moment, a question rose quietly within me:
Did growing up mean I had to start proving myself?
Because what I felt underneath that awareness was deeper than embarrassment.
I realized how exhausting it is to constantly validate my own existence. To measure whether I am doing enough, learning enough, becoming enough — even in something as private as reading a book.Moments like these are part of allowing myself to stop proving, and reconnecting with my younger self.
The Habit of Proving
It startled me how quickly my mind moved to defense:
- It’s just light reading.
- I needed something easy.
- I’ve been reading heavier things lately.
Why did I feel the need to clarify? Why couldn’t it simply be — I wanted to read it?
Somewhere along the way, I internalized the idea that everything I consume, learn, or enjoy should reflect growth. Depth. Seriousness. Evolution.
Even my curiosity has been filtered through image:
- Is this aligned with who I am becoming?
- Does this make me look thoughtful?
- Is this “good taste”?
In childhood, curiosity was instinctive. In adulthood, it feels curated.
This subtle self-monitoring never fully switches off. A quiet voice asks:
Is this good enough? Impressive enough? Aligned enough?
And I am tired of negotiating with that voice.
When Curiosity Was Simple
There was a time when my bookshelf held Mills & Boon romances with folded corners, Sidney Sheldon thrillers I couldn’t put down, and Danielle Steel novels passed between friends.
I would read them under dim lights, long after I was supposed to sleep. Sometimes hiding the book under my pillow when someone walked in — not because I was ashamed, but because it felt like a secret world that belonged only to me.
No one had to approve of them. No one had to understand them. They were mine.
I didn’t read to signal intelligence. I didn’t read to cultivate identity. I didn’t read to prove depth.
I read because the story pulled me in.
I remember finishing a dramatic romance and feeling completely satisfied — not embarrassed, not defensive. Just immersed.
Back then, I didn’t categorize my interests as shallow or sophisticated. I didn’t worry about whether they reflected evolution. I didn’t measure whether I was becoming enough. I was just becoming — naturally.
And I miss that ease.
Internal reflection like this is part of reconnecting with your younger self and nurturing emotional growth for women. Even small habits — reading a book without judgment — are powerful reminders of soft freedom.
A Small Rebellion
That night, after everyone slept, I picked up PS I Love You again.
Not to prove a point.
Not to make a statement.
Not to perform maturity.
Just to read.
I let myself feel whatever it evoked — nostalgia, softness, sentimentality. I didn’t analyze whether it was profound. I didn’t critique its literary merit. I simply allowed the experience.
It felt quietly rebellious to not curate my curiosity, to not optimize it, and to not turn it into growth.
Allowing Myself to Stop Proving
I am beginning to see how much of my adult life has revolved around improvement:
- Be better.
- Read better books.
- Have deeper conversations.
- Use time well.
- Grow constantly.
Growth genuinely matters to me. Learning excites me. Becoming more aware and capable feels meaningful.
But somewhere along the way, growth stopped being a desire and became a standard. Even something as small as reading a light novel started to feel like a reflection of my worth.
And that is where it becomes heavy.
Maybe growing up did not require me to start proving myself. Maybe I just learned to.
Allowing myself to stop proving does not mean lowering standards. It simply means I don’t have to justify softness.
I don’t have to explain why I want to read something sentimental. I don’t have to defend why I enjoy something simple. I don’t have to convert every interest into a productivity narrative.
Sometimes I can just say, “I felt like it.”
The young girl in me didn’t curate her interests. She didn’t calculate perception. She didn’t evaluate whether she was evolving fast enough. She just liked what she liked.
And maybe growing up doesn’t have to mean losing her. Maybe it means choosing — consciously — to stop proving and start allowing. To soften the constant evaluation. To trust that I don’t have to earn the right to enjoy something.
And maybe, slowly, that is how I return to her.
Not by undoing adulthood.
But by carrying her freedom into it.
-Mitika, still discovering.
