Broken Down in my Late Twenties

Remember when we were kids, and our bodies were like magical, indestructible machines that could run, jump, and play for hours on end without breaking a sweat? Scrapes and bruises were badges of honor, and the only thing that could stop us was our parents’ insistence on something called “bedtime.” Fast forward to our late teens and early twenties, when we could stay up until 4:30 a.m., subsisting on four or five Jell-O shots and a fistful of crushed goldfish your self-proclaimed “mom friend” always kept in her purse. Good times, right? Yeah, me neither.

Now in my late 20s, my body has staged a full-on mutiny. It’s like every joint, muscle, and bone in my body got together and said, “You know what? Screw this. Let’s make her life a living hell. We never liked her anyway. That’s right, we remember that time Freddy Collins dared you to eat two quarters in second grade but you had to one up him and ate three. Revenge is icy, bitch.”

It started innocently enough—a little twinge here, a slight ache there. I brushed it off, assuming it was just the result of too many nights hunched over my laptop, subsisting on coffee and leftover pizza. But then, like a slow-motion car crash, it started to escalate.

Suddenly, getting out of bed in the morning became a Herculean task, my back creaking and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies in a hailstorm. Stairs, once a casual hindrance in my day (despite my mother’s aspirations, I was never making it to Olympics), now loomed before me like the Mount Everest of pain. And don’t even get me started on the hangovers. What used to be a minor inconvenience, easily cured by a three fried eggs and a room temperature Gatorade, now felt like a near-death experience.

At first, I tried to deny it. I mean, I’m still young, right? I’m not even thirty yet! This can’t be happening to me. But then I started to notice the signs. The way I’d grunt and groan every time I stood up from my desk. The way I’d longingly eye the elevator, even when I was only going up one floor. The way I’d find myself Googling things like “does knee pain mean cancer?”

But here’s the thing: no one warned me about this. No one told me that one day, seemingly out of nowhere, my body would decide to betray me. That I’d go from feeling invincible to feeling like a creaky old wooden ship, ready to splinter apart at the slightest gust of wind.

And I’m tired. Oh my god, am I tired. What the hell is that about? Don’t even try to get me out of the house between the hours of 4 p.m. and 8 p.m. because all I want to do is embrace my slow metamorphosis into a vegetable. But then, annoyingly, come 10 p.m., that wild streak left over from long ago pokes its head out at 11:15 on a Tuesday night and says, “Hey, Arianna. You up? Good. Let’s go clubbing. The clubs not open? Too bad. You’re up anyway. Go on TikTok until 3:30.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired.

But it’s not just the physical exhaustion that’s getting to me. It’s the mental fog, the constant feeling of being spread too thin. I swear, my brain used to be a well-oiled machine, capable of juggling a million tasks at once. Now, I’m lucky if I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning (spoiler alert: it was two cups of coffee and an anxiety shit at the office). I used to pride myself on my sharp wit and quick comebacks, but now I find myself struggling to string together a coherent sentence before noon.

And don’t even get me started on the existential dread that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my psyche. It’s like, one minute I’m scrolling through Instagram, dead-eyed staring at pictures of people I haven’t even spoken to in a decade and a half, and the next I’m having a full-blown crisis about the meaning of life and whether I’m on the right path. It’s exhausting, trying to navigate this weird, in-between stage of being a full-fledged human, where I’m supposed to have it all figured out but still feel like a clueless kid playing dress-up in my mom’s clothes. Also why the hell did my mom still have so many blazers with shoulder pads when I was a kid? I grew up in the late 90’s/early aughts. What was going on there, Susan? (My mom’s name isn’t Susan but I feel like it lands better if I call her Susan). 

But perhaps the cruelest twist of all is the way my metabolism has betrayed me. Gone are the days when I could inhale an entire pizza, chase it with a pint of ice cream, and still have room for a late-night fast food run. Now, I so much as look at a carb, and my body is like, “Oh, you want to play that game? Here, feel like you’re carrying a spare tire around your waist, oh and congratulations on your food baby. Twins?”

It’s not just the physical changes either. Somehow, without me noticing, my priorities have shifted. I used to scoff at the idea of a quiet night in, preferring to paint the town red (or whatever color vodka I happened to be drinking. Do you guys remember UV Blue? Who greenlit that stuff?). Now, the highlight of my week is a cozy night on the couch, snuggled up with a good book and a cup of green tea. When did I become so… domesticated?

But you know what? Maybe this isn’t a betrayal at all. Maybe this is just my body’s way of telling me to slow down, to take care of myself, to appreciate the little things. Maybe the creaks and aches are just reminders to be grateful for all the amazing things my body has done and continues to do for me.

And maybe, just maybe, this is all part of the messy, beautiful journey of growing up. Of learning to love and accept ourselves, even as we change and evolve. Of realizing that getting older isn’t a curse, but a privilege—a chance to accumulate wisdom, experiences, and stories that we can one day bore our grandkids with.

So, to all the other broken down girlies out there, I say this: embrace the changes. Embrace the weird noises, the early bedtimes, the newfound appreciation for stretchy pants. Embrace the fact that we’re no longer the wild, carefree kids we once were, but rather, the slightly more responsible, slightly more exhausted adults we’re becoming.

And when all else fails, just remember these tips:

1. Prioritize Self-Care: Take time to listen to your body. Regular exercise, a balanced diet, and adequate sleep can make a world of difference.

2. Stay Active: Find an activity you enjoy, whether it’s yoga, hiking, or dancing in your living room. Keeping active can help manage those creaky joints.

3. Mental Health Matters: Don’t ignore the mental fog. Practice mindfulness, take breaks, and don’t hesitate to seek help if you’re feeling overwhelmed.

4.Embrace Change: Accept that priorities shift. It’s okay to find joy in quieter, simpler pleasures. Enjoy the evolution of your interests and tastes.

5. Stay Connected: Maintain your social connections. Even if your partying days are behind you, find new ways to bond with friends, like game nights or book clubs.

6. Reflect and Adapt: Take time to reflect on your journey and be open to adapting your lifestyle to better suit your current needs.

Remember, we may not be able to party like we used to, but we can still rock a pair of sensible shoes like nobody’s business. And that, my friends, is something to celebrate.