Age 23
By Valentina Arguelles
Something I have been struggling with this whole year is understanding myself. I notice a continuous pattern of questioning my actions and reactions: Why did I just do this? or Why am I like this? One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned at 23 is the importance of truly understanding myself. Along with that realization comes a gut-wrenching sense of derealization: staring at myself in the mirror, tracing every feature, replaying my actions, and trying to understand why I respond and think the way I do.
As I get older, I feel increasingly influenced by adults who push a broad yet narrow version of life: finish school, earn your degree, sit behind a screen for eight hours a day, take a vacation once you have a steady salary. Oh, and don’t forget to save money! This year in particular, the pressure behind that advice has intensified, making it harder to tell whether it comes from care or expectation. I don’t agree with this robotic lifestyle. It feels brain-washing. As a society, we become comfortable with what is “steady” because it feels safe.
I have begun to wonder whether this constant need to analyze myself is actually clarity, or just another form of control. When every reaction must be explained and every flaw corrected, self-understanding turns into self-policing. Instead of living, I am observing myself live. The problem isn’t structure itself, it’s being told that this is the only acceptable way to live. Safety feels suffocating to me because it leaves no room for originality. I can only describe that feeling as something close to a sleep paralysis demon, as if there is an invisible pressure on my chest and no voice strong enough to make it leave. The louder my thoughts become, the tighter my neck feels. A life built entirely around routine, predictability, and repetition feels less like fulfillment and more like quiet resignation. What unsettles me most is the expectation that meaning will naturally appear once the checklist is complete, that after the degree, the job, and the steady income, I am supposed to feel whole. I fear becoming comfortable in a life that looks fine on the outside but feels empty on the inside, where safety replaces curiosity and sameness replaces self-discovery.
I am learning that understanding myself does not mean confining myself to explanations or forcing myself into a life that feels acceptable to others. It means allowing space for uncertainty, growth, and contradiction. I do not want a life defined solely by safety or predictability, but by intention and presence. Even when self-doubt and derealization creep in, I remind myself that identity is not something to be perfected or completed. It is something to be lived, questioned, and felt in real time. Choosing that kind of life may feel uncomfortable and uncertain, but for me, it feels honest, and that honesty matters more than comfort ever could.
