I turned 30 in early March. Three decades on this earth sounds like a hell of a long time and yet it feels as if it’s gone past in a matter of seconds; like watching a train whizz past you while you’re stood at the platform in a flustered daze.
I still don’t feel old enough to be 30 - a friend reminded me that the Covid years don’t count, so technically I’m 27, which is slightly more reassuring (although I feel more like 25). What is also reassuring is that all of my friends - and my twin sister - are going through exactly the same feelings. It’s a mix of anxiety, excitement, panic, and intrigue. Where will our thirties take us?
I didn’t want to write a ‘30 lessons I learnt at 30’ kind of post because I’m still learning and figuring life out (sometimes successfully; a lot of the time unsuccessfully). Of course, just because I’m now 30 does not mean I have to have everything figured out, although there is this silent pressure that we should at least be halfway there. I think I’ll reach 60 and still be trying to make sense of this weird and wonderful thing we call life. There is the societal expectation that your twenties are for having fun, experimenting, exploring, and finding out what you want to do, while your thirties are when you should settle down and be serious. I reject that; I want to have more fun in my thirties, not less. Don’t get me wrong, my twenties were great - and I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, but I have so much I still want to do, see, and experience; so many more stories to write and people to meet.
But, my god, I’m tired. My twenties culminated in a blur of burnout, rejection, and financial instability so forgive me for sounding exhausted. It feels like the years of constant hustling and chasing have finally caught up with me, and yet I’m still stuck in an endless cycle of instability. It doesn’t help that this economy is awful, the job market abysmal, and earning enough money to stay afloat in London feels like a Sisyphean struggle. The sense of possibility, ambition, and optimism I once felt so strongly in my twenties is buried somewhere underneath all that - it’s still there but I need to really dig deep to find it again.
I think the source of my anxiety about growing older is the feeling that I am running out of time to make my mark on the world, which I know is silly as 30 is still young, but I’ve always been impatient. I want everything to happen immediately. But most things take time. I have to keep reminding myself that life is not linear - there will be ups and downs, detours and bumps in the road - but I’ll get there eventually.
It helped to get away. Over my birthday I went to Italy with my twin sister to eat pasta, walk through olive groves, and feel the sun on my skin. To have someone growing up beside you is the greatest gift. Our bodies echo one another; we lost our baby teeth at exactly the same time, and now we count each other’s new grey hairs. Ageing feels less overwhelming with her there to talk to, cry, and laugh with. It was my first proper holiday in a long time, and it reminded me how essential rest is - and how often freelancers don’t give themselves the time they need to properly rest and switch off. Looking out over the Mediterranean as it rippled gently, glimmering in the sun like a vast blanket of the softest silk, I decided that I will be more patient with myself as I enter my thirties.
In the week after my birthday there was a total lunar eclipse, meaning that the earth passed directly between the sun and moon, blocking the sun’s light from reaching the moon. It coincided with a blood moon, when the moon glows a reddish hue because of sunlight in the earth’s atmosphere. Apparently this is a significant time astrologically - eclipses are often associated with endings and beginnings. This was true for me. The moon, burning red, disappeared - and so did my relationship, extinguished in the dying light.
The first few weeks of my third decade haven’t been easy, but it’s also made me appreciate the community I’ve built over the last 30 years; the friends from university and secondary school, the friends I’ve made through work and travel, my sisters (the OGs). They hold me up and remind me who I am when I feel lost, along with just the right amount of humour, chocolate, and wine. I am lucky to have them.
In many ways this month has been about endings, but also beginnings. And as spring unfurls from its hibernation, so do I.
Reading
Silence is My Mother Tongue - A lyrical portrait of life inside a refugee camp in East Africa, through the eyes of Saba as she resists the roles society thrusts upon her.
Watching
No Other Land - This documentary should be mandatory viewing for everyone. Made by a group of Palestinian and Israeli filmmakers, it depicts the forced displacement of Palestinians from their homes in Masafer Yatta, a cluster of hamlets on the southern edge of the West Bank, by Israeli settlers and the Palestinian residents’ continued resistance against them. Despite winning an Oscar, the attacks are ongoing and one of the Palestinian directors was recently beaten by settlers and detained.
Adolescence - Everyone’s talking about it and for good reason. There are flaws, but it’s a timely and important piece of television which tells the story of how a 13-year-old boy becomes radicalised online by incel culture and is suspected of killing a girl at his school. It raises more questions than answers - but I think that’s the point - first and foremost, how can we (‘we’ being family members, teachers, social media companies, governments) prevent this from happening?
This Is Thirty - Directed by Jade de Robles Rossdale and Georgia Kelly, this is a gorgeous short film looking at how different women feel about turning 30.
Listening
Echoes of Harm: The Perfect Daughter - An incredibly moving interview with Gino Cecchettin, the father of Giulia Cecchettin who was brutally murdered by her ex-boyfriend two years ago, sparking a national reckoning on gender-based violence in Italy. Part of a fascinating and powerful series hosted by feminist journalist Marisa Bate, which explores the psychological impact of male violence against women.
Writing
The little-known Trump rule that ‘will be a death sentence for women’ - Trump’s reinstatement of the global gag rule - which withholds critical US funding from groups that provide, or even advocate for abortion care - will be a “death sentence” for women around the world, activists and NGOs have told me.
This puts many healthcare organisations in an impossible position, and will create a chilling effect on sexual and reproductive health services. “It’s basically saying, we’d rather have you suffer, we’d rather have you die, than to have access to abortion,” says Kinga Jelinska, co-founder and executive director of Women Help Women, who also described the policy as an “attack on human rights”.
If the funding is not replaced, it will result in an estimated 2.4 million unintended pregnancies with many of them resulting in unsafe abortions, according to MSI Reproductive Choices. The NGO is set to lose $14 million (£11m) in funding, which will impact their work in five countries including Zimbabwe, Burkina Faso, and Ethiopia. Although the gag rule has been reinstated before (every Republican president has reinstated it since 1984), this time the effects will be even worse, with the Trump administration’s recent freezing of foreign aid and dismantling of USAid, alongside the scrapping of DEI. The last time it was reinstated, during Trump’s last term, there were widespread clinic closures, reducing access to contraception, HIV testing, cervical cancer screening, and maternal care.
Thanks for reading. Until next time.
“The sense of possibility, ambition, and optimism I once felt so strongly in my twenties is buried somewhere underneath all that - it’s still there but I need to really dig deep to find it again.“ Reeeeeaally resonate with this!
And a big happy birthday 🧡