THE SPOT

Tag: personal growth

  • The Art of Becoming – Feeling Behind in Your 20s

    The Art of Becoming – Feeling Behind in Your 20s

    If you are in your 20s and feel like everyone else got a manual you never received, this post is for you. The art of becoming is messy, slow, and absolutely nobody’s idea of fun. And yet here we are.

    You are not the only one feeling behind. Someone should create a university degree for becoming, because this shit is nasty (pardon my French).

    25, So All Grown Up?

    As most of you know, the prefrontal cortex is not fully developed until you hit the age of 25. So all decision-making and long-term planning, all of the quintessential aspects that make adulting sooo difficult, are not fully there yet. In summary, you are literally not fully there.

    The issue that arises with me is that I assumed and hoped that once I hit 25, it would all be over. Well, lucky me, it wasn’t. Psychologist Meg Jay writes in her book The Defining Decade that your 20s are the most important decade of your life, however many do not take it seriously. Including all the grown ups around you. NIH researcher Jay Giedd argues that during your 20s you are more inclined to chase and compare.

    Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Why Am I Not The Fairest of Them All?

    There it is. Comparison. A thought process that has me in a chokehold, because why be happy and content if I could just have a mental spiral and lose my shit at 3am about something that I may or may not have done 7 years ago.

    Seriously, I lay awake thinking about the time I wished my server good appetite. I am, like many 20-somethings, my own worst critic. Even though research shows that feeling lost is technically and developmentally very much normal.

    But why oh why, do I open Instagram and think… huh? I wish I could be in Tanzania like that one friend from 10 years ago. I know that she has worked hard for her degree and deserves to treat herself. And yet I feel completely lonely. In a room full of people, whether family, friends or strangers, I feel lonely. Disconnected.

    A 2023 loneliness study found that people between the ages of 18 and 34 are the loneliest generation globally. More lonely than even the elderly.

    If only I could?

    Whenever I feel this jealousy, this pressure, the green monster emerging from the shadows, I also pity my inner child. Because it is also her that is hurting. Every penny, every time she had to hold herself back and be reasonable, be consistent, so her family had food on their table, electricity or clothing. She chipped away something off of her personality, off of her life, to make a sacrifice. Research suggests that children of immigrants inherit survival patterns including over-achieving, people-pleasing and hypervigilance. Concepts that should be unlearned during adulthood.

    As a first-generation individual, I have talked about the Black Tax in the linked essay. What I did not quite name was the identity tax that accompanies it. It takes a toll navigating two different cultures. What Germans would deem normal children’s behaviour, my African family clutched their pearls about. Where I had to take responsibility, my German counterparts were allowed to live and feel. When my German friends thought about what club to go to, I was worrying about how we were going to make rent. Don’t get me wrong, I also value the African and Togolese culture. Check out the blog post here to hear what I had to say.

    The Journey to Joy

    In the end, I don’t have it figured out. Nobody does at 25, at 28, or honestly at any age. But I am learning that becoming is not a destination you arrive at. It is the journey itself. And if you are somewhere in the middle of your own becoming, adjusting your crown in the dark, I see you. Keep going.

    If this resonated, you might also enjoy 3 Epiphany Moments I Wish Someone Had Told Me Sooner.

  • Epiphany Moments: 3 Life Lessons I Wish Someone Had Told Me Sooner

    Epiphany Moments: 3 Life Lessons I Wish Someone Had Told Me Sooner

    If you’re in your 20s trying to figure life out, you’re not alone. These are the life lessons for your 20s that nobody warns you about — the ones that only hit you on a cellular level after you’ve already learned them the hard way. Here are three epiphany moments that genuinely changed how I move through life.

    1. Stop Waiting for Others — Start Living for Yourself


    When I moved out of my parents’ house I was so excited. Out on my own. Out in the streets. I wanted to finally experience life without parental supervision. But I held myself back. I waited for someone to join me. So many nights I spent looking for an acquaintance or a friend to tell me whether they’d be able to come to that bar, the art gallery, the dance class, the swimming pool.
    People naturally don’t owe you their time. Never. But you should never hold yourself back because someone said no. Go to that concert. Go clubbing. Go on that trip. Carpe Diem.
    I started college in 2018. 2019 was the only year I really got — and only toward the end of it did I stop waiting and start living. And you bet your nice little behind, it was all disrupted by the Covid-19 pandemic. So don’t be a fool. Go do it.


    2. Keep Your Plans to Yourself (The Evil Eye Is Real)


    I used to share a lot about my life. The older I get, the more I believe in the evil eye. Now I only share when plans are definitive and the goal has been secured. If I cross the finish line — great. If I don’t, at least nobody will ask about it.
    I stopped oversharing specifically after my job search, which all but destroyed what little confidence I had to begin with. If you didn’t get the job, didn’t finish the project, just couldn’t get there for whatever reason — cry about it, cry some more, and then move on. Though I’ll admit, I haven’t fully moved on from a job I applied to back in December.


    3. Loneliness Is a Life Lesson Too — Learn to Sit With Yourself


    “You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person” — Oscar Wilde.

    And I think it’s true.
    I feel lonely. I felt lonely when I was single and I feel lonely right now, even though I have a partner. I believe it’s integral to who we are at our core to get to know ourselves. Because if you don’t know you, how will you ever know what you want — or don’t want?
    Solitude and loneliness — there’s a fine line between them. But I think at some point in your life you’ll have to experience both to grow.

  • When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    Sunset – Chania Old Harbor

    27 years ago, I “blessed” this world with my presence. 27 — not yet old, no longer really young. And I felt it.

    Birthdays stopped being magical for me a long time ago. I was thrust into the reality of life when I was 6 and my father got sick. Gone were the faint memories of presents and cake. In their place, the door opened for mental health issues, financial woes, and many suffocating crying sessions, both at my parents’ house as well as in my very own first apartments.

    This year, unfortunately, was no different. It started on August 15th. I felt overwhelmed, tired, exhausted — and very much done. I started reflecting: what have I accomplished so far? Based on all the experiences, the hurdles I jumped, the tears I wiped away, and the birthdays celebrated… was I there?

    It didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like I would ever reach there.

    I had read Meg Jay’s book once, The Defining Decade1. I knew that even clinicians don’t believe your twenties are the time of your life. But still, I felt… like I lacked.

    Lacked knowledge.
    Lacked guidance.
    Lacked grace.
    Lacked happiness.

    I don’t like myself — my weight, my thought process, my mental health issues, my job, and, lastly, the point I am at in my life currently. I wished I did.

    I look at Instagram, Reddit, LinkedIn, and other social platforms, and every post, every picture, every caption seems to solidify these thoughts.

    All of this culminated in tears — on my birthday.
    A day I should be thankful for.
    Not only for being given life, but for all the blessings I already have: family, friends, a roof over my head, food, life itself.

    But is that all I am meant to do on earth?

    Is this it?
    And if it is… shouldn’t I be as content as possible?

    I don’t know. The day I was supposed to be happy about was the day I felt like I had wasted it all. And as the sun set for another day, it felt like all my hope set with it.

    This was a great overview of the book, I hope you enjoy.
    Sunset in Heidelberg

  • Self-love: Finding yourself in a crowd of people

    Twas the season to get luxurious. Or so I thought.

    After yet another spiral of self-doubt, anger, and that familiar dull ache of self-loathing, I knew I needed to step out—literally. My days had blurred into a gray loop of working, studying, sleeping, and doing it all over again. The sun rose and set like a metronome, ticking through time, but nothing really moved me. My student apartment had become a quiet container for my thoughts, but not my feelings—something my psychologist gently pointed out. Feel your feelings, he said, not just think them.

    So I decided to do something different. Something that felt intentional. I picked up The Defining Decade by Dr. Meg Jay—a book every twenty-something should probably read. It wasn’t just full of research or clinical insight; it told stories about people like me, trying to make sense of their twenties. Careers, love, meaning, identity—each chapter gave me language for what I was stumbling through.

    With the book in hand and a shaky sense of purpose, I made a reservation at jil Rooftop Bar, one of Heidelberg’s newer, trendier spots. Picture this: a crisp fall night, Bismarckplatz glittering below, and me, in a black dress with a slit up the side, attempting what I hoped would be a moment—a night of self-love and presence.

    Reality arrived before the drinks did.

    I sat down alone. Waited. No one came. The room was full of life—strangers laughing, couples clinking glasses—and I was invisible. Eventually, I flagged someone down and ordered a Limoncello Sprizz and foie gras-stuffed chicken. I opened my book between sips, trying to create a cinematic moment for myself.

    But I wasn’t in a film. The food arrived, underwhelming. The drink was fine. The atmosphere buzzed, but I felt disconnected. Gray inside. My table neighbors asked if I was alone. I smiled and said yes, that I wanted to be. I wasn’t lying—but I also wasn’t fulfilled.

    After finishing, I stepped onto the balcony. Filmed the view. Still numb. I went back inside, ordered another drink, and let the weight settle in. No sudden clarity. No Instagram-worthy transformation. Just silence inside a very loud place.

    I paid at the bar. The waiter didn’t get a tip—the food was late and the service indifferent. I walked out onto the cold street, called my sister, and cried.