On being 25

My sister-in-law posted on her blog recently about where she is in life right now. She was talking about how she still feels so young and wants to do fun and exciting things. Her post got me thinking about where I was at 25. (I just reread her post and realized she's 26, but for some reason the age 25 stuck in my head while I was thinking about this. So, I'm going with 25.) It's been a fun little retrospective; thanks for the indirect inspiration, Shelley!

At 25, I was starting my last semester at BYU. I had just barely decided I wanted to go to graduate school and squeezed a prerequisite psych course into my schedule. It was an eye-opening and inspiring class; I still think about it. I was Relief Society president in a student ward and was the oldest woman in the ward by 3 or 4 years. I was teaching beginning Spanish at the MTC.

Dating was fun, which was a revelation to me. Prior to this time I had approached dating with a whole lot of anxiety. I needed the men I dated to love me and breakups were crushing to my self-image. I had a hard time with the ambiguity and uncertainty of dating. Is this relationship going anywhere? Am I good enough? Am I crazy? What if he doesn't love me? What if he rejects me? Approaching relationships with this kind of anxiety leads to exactly that: rejection. Much as I tried to hide it, I'm sure I came across as needy and just a little crazy.

I remember having a sort of revelation in therapy. (Oh, that therapy! I can't speak highly enough about that experience and will be forever grateful to BYU that it was all free.) I had been talking about a man who was pursuing me quite intensely. I was trying to talk myself into liking him. My therapist pointed this out and then asked me if I wanted to date him. The answer was no. Whether this was something I wanted or not had never occurred to me. I could see good things in this man and see how being with me could really help him (I know that sounds terrible conceited, but that's a topic for another day.), but I had never considered whether he was good for me. I realized that the fact that I could find good things in him meant nothing about our [potential] relationship. That's a reflection of me; it's part of who I am. I see good things in everyone. So, if this wasn't about whether I'm good enough, the question became whether he's good for me, whether he's what I want.

This was earth-shattering. It was like I could feel my paradigm shift. Dating now had nothing to do with my worth and was not a reflection of my value. Going on a date (or just getting to know someone, for that matter) wasn't such a big deal anymore. I didn't have to know whether I would marry this person or seriously date this person. It wasn't an interview or try-out or see-if-Becca's-good-enough-session; it was just a date. Dating was fun! I had fun! I could relax and be myself. I was confident and happy and friendly without anxiety and without pressure. Not coincidentally, I dated a lot.

I think I really grew up at 25. I knew and liked myself. I felt satisfied with the person I had become and with all the hard work that had gone into discovering that. I stepped confidently into adulthood. Twenty-five was a good year.