I’m 34 years old. I have three sons, two dogs, one husband, and a house, plus student loans, medical bills, and a yard. This calls for some serious “adulting.”
Except that I have attention deficit disorder (ADHD or ADD).
My contemporaries “adult” with ease. They grew into it; they know how to trim the hedges on weekends and remember to pay the water bill. For me, the diagnosis makes it difficult.