Before 30 finds me

I used to believe that 30 would arrive with a loud announcement: a finish line where a stable, polished, and entirely unbothered version of myself would suddenly take over, finally done with anxieties of my 20s. I thought it was an age where I would naturally possess far more answers than questions.

But as I come close to 30 years old, I realize life did not follow the clean, linear timeline I once expected. I am not entering this age with a perfect record. I am entering it with failures I had quietly accepted, harsh lessons I learned the hard way, and a steady strength from God that helps me stand up after every disappointment.

My 20s were not as glamorous as I once hoped they would be. In truth, I failed many times. There were opportunities I did not get, personal plans that did not work out, and moments when I wondered if I was already too far behind. I often fell into the trap of comparing myself with people who seemed to be moving faster and achieving more. I questioned whether I made the right decisions, whether I was enough, and whether I still had time.

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The hardest and most transformative part of my 20s was losing my father. He was a deeply loving, hardworking man whose nightly prayers made our home feel safe.

I constantly long for the simplest memories of him: his patience while waiting to pick me up from work, the soft rustle of his Bible pages turning in the evening, and his comforting, unspoken presence in our living room. When illness weakened him, I tried desperately to stand firm for our family. I stayed by his side until the end. I forced myself to hold the pieces together, not because I was not hurting, but because someone needed to remain steady.

There are kinds of strength that do not feel heroic while you are carrying them. Sometimes, strength looks like simply staying in the room. Sometimes, it looks like answering urgent messages, helping with what needs to be done, comforting someone else, or choosing not to collapse because others are also depending on you. I did not feel brave. I only knew that breaking down felt like a luxury I could not afford.

Grief completely changed the way I understood adulthood. It showed me that growing older is not just about reaching milestones society expects from us. It is about carrying precious memories, accepting deep loss, and trusting God even when a massive, irreplaceable part of your world is suddenly gone. I still miss my father in ordinary moments, wishing I could ask him for advice or hear his reassuring voice just one more time.

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Yet, this grief also left me deeply grateful, teaching me to value small conversations, ordinary days, and the genuine opportunity to be of use to others while I still can. It made me less impressed by the pressure to look successful, and more aware of the importance of being kind, present, and faithful. I learned that people may admire your achievements, but in the most painful moments of life, what truly matters is the love that stays.

If I could speak to my younger, anxious self, I would tell her that she does not need to rush. She does not need to have everything figured out by 25, or 27, or even 30. Some dreams will come late, and they will be sweeter for the wait. Some prayers will hurt deeply before they heal. Some versions of success will look like leaving home to chase a calling, while others will look like finding the courage to return. None of these paths are wasted when they teach us how to live with deeper humility and courage.

Thirty is not the magical age where I suddenly become complete. It is the age where I become more honest. I am honest enough to admit that I have failed, grieved, doubted, and struggled. But I am also honest enough to look in the mirror and say that I have endured. I have learned. I have loved. I have continued.

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Maybe that is what 30 means to me now. It is not a perfect arrival at a pristine destination. It is a living testimony of many brave attempts. It is proof that even after failures, profound grief, and lingering uncertainty, a person can still grow into someone softer, wiser, and more grounded in faith.

I am not entering 30 with everything figured out. I am entering it with a heart that has been tested, a faith that has been stretched, and a life that is still beautifully, wonderfully unfinished.

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Allyssa F. Laurente, 29, is learning to embrace the unexpected timelines of her life.