Almost 30—Even Therapists Have Existential Crises
I'm a mental health therapist and I've been dreading turning 30-thoughts and reflections
When I think about turning 30 in approximately one month, my mind races with, “This isn’t how life was supposed to turn out” and “This isn’t what was supposed to happen.” A milestone that, for many, feels exciting or meaningful. For me, it has felt like a looming deadline I’ve been dreading. I started telling people I’m already 30 a while ago, hoping to soften the impact. If anything, it’s made the weight of it feel heavier. Lately, that weight has been sinking in more deeply, and I’ve been trying to unpack it, both on my own and in therapy. What exactly is behind my distress about turning 30?
In 2014, I was finishing up high school and I reflected a lot on what my life would look like in ten years. I imagined myself being a licensed therapist, owning my own successful practice, married, having a house, a newer car, and starting a family. The one thing I did accomplish was getting independently licensed last year before I turned 29. I have a running self-deprecating joke with my therapist, “I’m almost 30 and all I have is a piece of paper.”
I’m not married, I don’t have kids, I don’t own my own home, and I work part-time at a community mental health center. Instead it is like I am rebuilding my life since leaving my abusive alcoholic ex and moving back home. I feel like most of my life has been in survival mode or one crisis after another. From growing up in an abusive alcoholic family, to repeating the pattern with my ex partner, and experiencing workplace trauma. It has been like jumping from one fire to the next.
I feel ashamed, embarrassed, and disappointed in myself with where I am at. Living in rural Minnesota, it is common to run into people from the past and easy to compare myself to their journey. It creates a backpack of shame I carry along with avoidance from others. Life is definitely not where I thought it was going to be at this age and with that comes grief. Grief that life has played out the way it has and a feeling of loss for what it currently isn’t.
My feelings around turning 30 remind me of a TV show that starts with the main character having an established friend group, relationship, and goals for the future. By the end of the fifth season, those friendships have shifted, the relationship ended, and the character has a different sense of purpose. In the middle of this, some of those friends and family members have passed. All things part of life that I am working on accepting. It reminds me of the song, Time Marches On by Tracy Lawrence. A song that perfectly encapsulates how life changes over the years, for better or worse, but time marches on.
The other side of the coin
As I process these feelings, I realize these emotions are also fueled by pervasive societal expectations. We are often bombarded with messages about what we "should" have accomplished by a certain age which creates a restrictive timeline that many of us feel pressured to follow. Another societal expectation I’ve been feeling comes from the added scrutiny aging women face for their appearance or in workplace settings where youth can equate to opportunity.
Beyond societal expectations, those of us who come from difficult backgrounds such as escaping abusive homes, navigating poverty, and surviving toxic relationships, face an even more complicated path toward stability and self-acceptance. Breaking free from these cycles requires resilience, patience, and self-compassion. The nuance and difficulty of breaking free from these cycles is something I have only come to recently accept in my own therapy. My life, in so many ways, has been shaped by trauma and survival. When you grow up in survival mode, it can feel like you won’t make it very far—that dreaming is a luxury you can’t afford. You carry hopes quietly, almost as if they're unrealistic. Even as I achieved things I once thought were out of reach, I rarely felt like I could stop, breathe, and feel them. I kept going, not out of ambition, but out of necessity. Then one day you look up, nearing 30, and realize: I did survive. I made it this far. And now, it's time to figure out what it means to actually live. That realization is heavy and humbling, especially knowing that so many others with similar stories don’t get the same chance. Not everyone makes it to this point.
The other side of the coin is turning 30 offers an opportunity to shed these societal and personal expectations and acknowledge the strength it takes to overcome hardship, and to focus on growth and self-discovery. This milestone can instead be a celebration of resilience, reminding me that my worth isn’t determined by age or societal standards, but by my own journey and the hope of what lies ahead.
According to Erik Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development, I’m at the “Intimacy vs. Isolation” stage. The central task is to form meaningful, reciprocal connections while maintaining a stable sense of self. It’s a stage that asks you to open up, trust others, and allow yourself to be seen, all while reconciling your own inner world. That challenge feels especially real for people like me who’ve had to prioritize survival over connection. This stage isn’t just about romantic relationships. It’s about emotional risk. It’s about learning how to show up for yourself and others without armor. As I near 30, I’m finding that this stage isn’t a single moment or decision, but instead it’s a process of slowly thawing out, piece by piece. And maybe that’s what this season of life is really about: not just surviving, but allowing yourself to be known.
I wish I could end this article by giving 10 Lessons I Learned Before 30: What Everyone Should Know, but the truth is I don’t have those answers. Instead, I have a shifting perspective on what life in your 20s and 30s really means. Your 20s are for figuring things out, stumbling along, learning, and realizing how little you know. By the time you’re nearing 30, you’ve lived through and experienced enough that the things which once felt terrifying no longer hold the same power. In a way, aging is its own form of exposure therapy.
I’ve learned that it is okay to change your mind about your passions, hobbies, and values. Most importantly, I’ve learned to be thankful, not only for getting this far in life, but also for the mundane things. When I feel down, I make a list of all things I am grateful for, that I have access to water, food, plumbing, and a working car. These basics things often overlooked, but they are my quiet reminders that I am safe now—and that’s not something I’ve always been able to say.
“The only thing that stays the same is
everything changes, everything changes…”—Tracy Lawrence
If you feel inclined to support a therapist turning 30 with counseling books or cozy tools for the therapy room you can get me a birthday present here:
https://throne.com/therapizedjenny
I don’t expect anything, but if gifting is your love language, I’ll receive it with deep gratitude. 💛