The Pressure to Have Life Figured Out in Your 20s
It usually starts with a simple question.
“So… what are you doing these days?”
You smile before answering. Not because you’re excited, but because you need a second to decide which version of the truth sounds acceptable. The honest one feels too messy. Too uncertain. So you choose the cleaner answer. The one that sounds like you’re going somewhere, even if you’re not sure where.
Everyone around you is moving forward. One friend talks about promotions. Another mentions wedding plans. Someone else just moved to a new city and sounds confident, settled, and certain. You nod, listen, congratulate them, and wonder why your own life feels like it’s paused at a crossroads you can’t name.
At night, when the noise fades, the questions get louder.
You think about the path you chose and the ones you didn’t. You wonder if you stayed because you wanted to, or because leaving felt too risky. You open social media without thinking and immediately regret it. Another milestone. Another reminder that time is passing, and you still don’t have a clear plan.
You tell yourself you’re running out of time.
In your twenties, everything feels like it matters more than it should. Every decision feels permanent. You’re not just choosing a job, you’re choosing who you’re allowed to become. You’re not just ending a relationship, you’re questioning whether you failed at something you were supposed to get right by now.
No one tells you how heavy that is to carry.
You remember being younger, when the future felt open. When not knowing was exciting instead of terrifying. Somewhere along the way, uncertainty stopped being curiosity and started feeling like a flaw.
People say things like, “You’ll figure it out,” but they don’t tell you how. They don’t tell you what to do when you wake up with a tight chest and the feeling that you’re falling behind a race you never agreed to run.
So you try to act like an adult. You choose stability over interest. Certainty over curiosity. You stay where you are because at least it looks like progress. You convince yourself that discomfort is normal, that everyone feels this way, that this is just how life works.
But some part of you knows the difference between growing pains and quiet unhappiness.
You start to notice it in small moments. How Sunday evenings feel heavy. How do you feel drained by things that once excited you? How you keep waiting for clarity to arrive, like one day you’ll wake up and suddenly feel confident about your direction.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, life keeps asking you to move forward anyway.
And slowly, you realise something no one ever said out loud: most people in their twenties are guessing. They’re choosing the best option they can with the information they have. They’re scared too. They just learned how to hide it better.
You’re not behind. You’re just aware.
Aware that life isn’t meant to be figured out all at once. Aware that forcing answers too early can cost you years. Aware that growth doesn’t always look impressive from the outside.
One day, maybe not soon, but eventually, you’ll look back at this version of yourself, the one who felt lost, pressured, and uncertain, and you’ll understand. This wasn’t wasted time. This was the part where you learned how to listen to yourself. Where you questioned what success really meant. Where you stopped blindly following timelines that didn’t fit.
Your twenties aren’t a straight road. They’re a series of turns, pauses, and wrong directions that quietly teach you who you are.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe you’re not meant to have life figured out right now.
Maybe you’re just meant to live it, confused, learning, becoming one uncertain step at a time.
