Children in Adult Bodies
Many times we've called people out for being children in adult bodies. Generally, we say this about supervisors, colleagues, politicians, and peers we eventually lose touch with. But the older I get, the more I see I am no different.
Depending on the childhood you had and the support you received, many adults are still chasing some kind of nurturing they never got. Just because we're biologically older doesn't mean we know how to care for ourselves. In that regard, most of us are children in adult bodies. We need and crave the same love, attention, and reassurance we did when we were younger.
Who is going to give it to us?
Our spouses? Sure. All the time? Probably not.
Our children? Isn't it our job to nurture them?
There are many thoughts that pull us away from receiving the care we still need as adults. We talk ourselves out of it because, well, we're grown up now. It feels silly to admit we still want to be comforted, understood, and cared for.
This is not to be confused with being playful. In fact, I think adults should be more playful than ever.
Want to color? Do it.
Want to own a teddy bear? Don't be ashamed.
Want to play video games? Why aren't you?
What I'm talking about is inner adulthood. We’ve heard of the inner child, but what of the inner adult? When we say someone is a child in an adult body, what we're really saying is that their inner adult is still dormant. So how do we wake that inner adult up?
We start by noticing the moments when we aren't being adults on the inside. When we're performing for others, we're not being adults. When we're presenting an identity that isn't authentic to ourselves, we're not being adults.
Maturity is becoming comfortable in your own skin. It's releasing the fear of what other people think about you.
That doesn't mean you stop caring how your loved ones feel. Their opinions matter. What I mean is caring less about what strangers on social media think about your latest post, or declining an invitation because there will be too many unfamiliar faces in the room.
If you're a master at performing, social situations aren't difficult because you're always wearing a mask. But if your inner adult is mature, social situations aren't difficult because you no longer need one.
Which version sounds more exciting?
To be immature is not to be childish. It is to be disconnected from who you truly are. When you're alone and no one is watching, that's who you are right now.
We aren't changing when we mature our inner adult. We're evolving. Change is when we decide to become someone else. It's when we don't like our current identity and attempt to fit in with a different crowd.
Evolution is different. Evolution is taking the person you already are when no one is looking and allowing that person to grow.
But how do we identify who that person really is?
Stop performing.
The person who doesn't act a certain way to receive likes, praise, or approval is the person closest to the truth.
Imagine someone you deeply respect ringing your doorbell unannounced. Your house isn't spotless. Your outfit isn't perfect. Are you ashamed? Not performing means not being ashamed in that moment.
Imagine going to a function where wealthy people are attending, and you’re wearing something you’ve had in your closet for ten years, and not a timeless classic piece, but a worn out item you still love. Not performing is owning that piece and the fact that yes, you do love it and want to take it out.
Think about how you act around strangers at a party. You know the host, but most of the guests are unfamiliar. You're seated together, sharing a meal, making conversation.
Are you being yourself? Or are you putting a glamour over your career, exaggerating your accomplishments, showcasing your children's achievements, or highlighting every interesting place you've traveled?
Are you speaking honestly, or are you managing an image?
Maturity comes down to humility.
It's the CEO I know who stores pickles and string cheese in his office mini-fridge versus the CEO who offers champagne and caviar to every guest.
Which brings me to my next point.
If we have to say we are, we aren't.
If we have to say we aren't, we are.
We often boast about the things we rarely experience, while the things that truly define us tend to speak for themselves.
I already know that pickle-loving CEO is a millionaire. He doesn't have to drive a Ferrari to tell me. And he doesn't.
Now, if you love sports cars, I don't blame you. They're beautiful. That's playfulness. That's enjoyment.
But if you're driving something, wearing something, or acting a certain way solely to convince others you are important, successful, intelligent, or worthy, then I would argue you don't fully believe those things about yourself yet.
There is an emptiness underneath that performance. And I don't think most people do this on purpose. I know I didn't.
We perform to protect ourselves from being hurt. That's a childish thing to do, not in a negative way, but in a developmental way. Children learn strategies to avoid pain. Adults often continue using those same strategies. Somewhere along the line, you got hurt being yourself and learned it was safer to become someone else.
You learned to hide certain traits.
Maybe you became tougher than you really are.
Maybe you became quieter.
Became louder.
More impressive.
Maybe you became agreeable, most commonly.
Whatever the strategy was, it helped you survive. But survival and authenticity are not the same thing. If our inner adult remains immature, we will constantly seek validation.
Wanted? Of course. Human beings need relationships and community. Validated? That's different.
Money isn't who you are. Neither is your career. Neither are your vacations, your social media following, your children's report cards, or the balance in your bank account.
Who were you before you got paid?
Who are you when you're at home and not on a beach in Bali?
Who are you when your children aren't succeeding?
Who are you when you clock out of work?
Equally, we often showcase what we are not. Are you sentimental but afraid people will judge you for crying? If your inner adult hasn't matured, you may compensate by appearing tough. You may scoff at vulnerability or tease others for expressing emotion.
Empathy isn't weakness.
Sentimentality isn't weakness.
A heart that feels deeply is not broken. It's functioning exactly as it should. You’re alive, congratulations.
To be vulnerable is maturity. To be tough all the time makes me wonder: What are you hiding behind your skin? And frankly, I do want to know. I connect with people who show depth.
I say all of this with kindness because I have been every one of these personas. I spent years becoming everyone except myself. And I don’t make fun of that old version of me. She was lost, confused, and underdeveloped. And when I finally discovered who I really was, I was afraid to show her.
My throat tightened when she wanted to speak.
My posture slumped when she entered a room full of strangers.
I wanted to avoid interactions, and when I did upset someone not comfortable with the “change” (evolvement), I felt wrong and guilty.
Everything I had been hiding rose to the surface, and it was terrifying.
The old version of me would have hardened my exterior. If I hardened the outside, who would ever see the inside?
But inner adulthood doesn't allow that. Inner adulthood asks us to remain vulnerable anyway. And vulnerability is one of the greatest forms of courage there is. To show up exactly as you are.
If you've never done that consistently, then you may be learning as an adult what should have been learned as a child. Somehow the lesson was interrupted.
Perhaps you were criticized, rejected, ignored...
The reasons are endless.
But those experiences taught you to fear being yourself. You learned to become someone else instead. The healthier response would have been to grieve the hurt, heal from it, and continue forward as yourself. The good news is that we still have that opportunity. We do not have to abandon ourselves every time being ourselves hurts.
Is it liberating to be yourself?
Not immediately. No, no. At first it feels uncomfortable.
It feels lonely.
It feels heartbreaking.
It feels terrifying.
The people who were attached to your performance may leave. The people aligned with who you truly are may not have arrived yet.
But over time something changes.
You begin nurturing yourself the way a child needs to be nurtured. You stop seeking permission. You stop outsourcing validation. You stop abandoning yourself.
That frightened child inside slowly grows up.
And that is inner adulthood.
That is liberation.
This essay was very difficult to explain but occupied my thoughts the past three days. For over a month I have changed into who I really am, and then evolved each day allowing her to exist. She has been dormant but is now awake. And she felt scared, still does. Putting my writing out there is very scary for me, which is why I’ve never done it but have been writing since I was nine years old. Fear or no fear, I am here.
