What It Really Means to Grow Up
Why age doesn’t equal maturity—and what psychological maturity looks like
Growing up seems like it should be simple. You turn 18, maybe get a job, enter a relationship, start a family—and just like that, you’re an adult. At least, that’s the script many people are handed. But real maturity doesn’t arrive with a birthday or a mortgage. It doesn’t come stamped with official milestones.
We know it quite well. Spend enough time on social media, and you’ll notice that age and maturity don’t always go hand in hand. There are young people who reflect deeply on life and approach challenges with wisdom beyond their year, while some adults throw tantrums over minor inconveniences. Experience alone doesn’t guarantee maturity, and growing older doesn’t necessarily mean growing up.
This disconnect highlights something important: development doesn’t follow a tidy, step-by-step progression, as if we all hit the same milestones at the same pace. Growing up is often far messier. And maturity itself is full of contradictions. You might be 30 with a stable job and a long-term relationship, capable of thinking critically and making rational decisions, yet still struggle with handling rejection, resolving conflict, or taking full responsibility for your choices.
In the end, growing up has less to do with age, achievements, or abstract thinking and more to do with depth of character. Research on subjective experiences supports this. In a recent study, when people were asked what made them feel like adults, they didn’t point to career success, marriage, or having kids. Instead, they talked about taking responsibility for their actions, making independent decisions, and being able to care for themselves.
In his seminal work on personality, psychologist Gordon Allport painted a portrait of psychological maturity, drawing from the insights of Sigmund Freud, Richard Clarke Cabot, Erik Erikson, and Abraham Maslow. He argued that true maturity is about the ability to act independently, guided by conscious, self-directed motivations rather than unconscious childhood impulses.
According to Allport, a mature person possesses a deep, honest understanding of themselves, unclouded by self-deception. They can step outside their own perspective and see themselves—and their actions—with clarity. They cultivate warm, meaningful relationships, not out of dependence, but from a genuine capacity for connection. They face setbacks and frustrations without spiraling into self-pity or excessive self-blame, and they engage with reality as it is, rather than distorting it to fit personal biases. They know what they value and prioritise what truly matters. And they develop a sense of humour about life’s absurdities.
Allport’s vision of maturity is rich—almost aspirational. But rather than seeing these traits as fixed qualities we either have or lack, it’s more useful to think of them as ongoing processes. Maturity is a way of engaging with ourselves and the world, continuously shaped by experience, reflection, and choice.
If maturity isn’t about simply getting older but about integration and self-awareness, then perhaps it’s better understood not as a vertical ascent, but as a process of becoming whole. Writer Rebecca Solnit offers a metaphor for this in Recollections of My Nonexistence. She challenges the idea that growing up is like a tree simply getting taller. Instead, she describes it as a process of becoming whole—integrating our experiences, relationships, and beliefs into a cohesive sense of self. She says,
Growing up, we say, as though we were trees, as though altitude was all that there was to be gained, but so much of the process is growing whole as the fragments are gathered, the patterns found.
This idea of growing whole rather than just growing older resonates deeply with me. Looking back, I can see how my own experiences have shaped my sense of maturity, not through traditional milestones, but through the shifts in how I handled setbacks, made choices, and outgrew old perspectives.
Maturity is a series of subtle transformations. Here are some of the shifts that made me realise I was, in fact, growing up:
Maturity has meant seeing my blind spots with sharper clarity, and acting accordingly. Recognising the patterns in my emotional reactions: when irrationality takes over, when self-regulation is difficult, and what external factors trigger reactivity. It’s noticing how my mind distorts, denies, fixates, or forgets—and, with that awareness, becoming more strategic about when to engage in difficult conversations, when to delay decisions, and when to step away to avoid unnecessary harm.
Maturity has meant taking full ownership of my actions, regardless of circumstances. No longer outsourcing responsibility to luck, timing, or other people. Yes, context matters, but in the end, my choices are mine alone. It’s stepping into accountability: understanding that no one is coming to rescue me, that growth is a process I must take charge of.
Maturity has meant seeing my parents as human beings before seeing them as parents. Releasing the wish that they had been different, that they had met every need perfectly. Understanding that they, too, were shaped by their own wounds and limitations. This doesn’t erase the hurt, but it makes space for perspective, for something closer to compassion, and when possible, for forgiveness.
Maturity has meant abandoning the exhausting act of performance. No longer twisting myself to fit expectations, curating my identity for approval, or contorting my personality to be more palatable. It’s unlearning masks, standing firmly in my values, my preferences, and my dislikes without feeling the need to justify them.
Maturity has meant admitting, without shame, “I don’t know.” Letting go of the need to appear competent at all times. No longer equating knowledge with worth. Curiosity has replaced certainty, learning has taken precedence over performing, and gaps in understanding are no longer personal failures but invitations to grow.
Maturity has meant learning that not every emotion demands immediate action. That feelings are not orders, but information. Some require movement, others simply ask to be acknowledged. No longer reacting to every flicker of discomfort as if it’s an emergency or being ruled by disappointment, fear, or worry.
Maturity has meant being more intentional about where my energy flows. No longer spending myself entirely on obligation, expectation, or the approval of others. Learning to discern what truly deserves my time, my effort, and my presence. Choosing meaning over habit, and depth over convenience.
Maturity has meant developing tolerance for my flaws. No longer treating my imperfections as defects to be fixed or hidden. Accepting that growth is possible without self-loathing.
Maturity has meant learning to hold loss with grace. People leave, expectations dissolve, identities shift. Growing up requires the ability to receive loss without resistance and being shaped by it, and learning that grief is not a problem to be solved, but an experience to be lived.
Maturity has meant gaining the ability for perspective. No longer seeing problems as singular challenges with only one solution, but recognising that there are often many ways to approach the same issue. Behaviours and events have different explanations and that each perspective brings its own truth. Creating room for multiple answers, to entertain ambiguity without needing everything to fit neatly into a box.
Don’t get me wrong. Maturity, for me, hasn’t been about reaching some final, enlightened state. It’s an evolving process, full of missteps. Every realisation I’ve had is relative to a less mature version of myself. I still stumble and catch myself reacting in old ways. I still have blind spots I haven’t yet uncovered.
And let’s be clear—growing up is not about killing the childlike parts of ourselves or silencing the rebellious teenager within. If anything, keeping those parts alive is what makes adulthood bearable—play, curiosity, and imagination aren’t things we’re meant to outgrow. They’re what make life rich. As Carl Jung said,
In every adult there lurks a child— an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole.
When people say, “Don’t be a child!” to an adult, they’re not warning against playfulness or wonder. They’re often calling out emotional immaturity: defensiveness, impulsivity, and avoiding responsibility. “You need to grow up!” usually means, “Get your act together.” I still cherish the childlike parts of myself, but I’ve also come to appreciate my growing capacity for emotional depth, resilience, and accountability.
Now I’d love to hear from you—when did you start to feel like you were truly growing up? How have your choices, relationships, or perspectives changed over time as you matured?
If you like this post, please hit the ❤️️ below!
See you in the next post!
More from Modern Virtue:
I started maturing as i started to deconstruct the inocent neoliberal ideology within me and having empathy for people's struggles, also being sexually assaulted and realizing all the women i know (friends and family) have been assaulted or raped made me reflect more in what i believed politically and how i viewed the world.
That was just the beginning.
Seeing my parents as humans with their own flaws was also a big change in my day to day life... i still have lots of growing to do and the thing i currently struggle with the most is self-acceptance.
Loved your post and all the psychology citations, i can't wait to check out your page. It also inspired me to start writing about subjects of my own interest as a psychology student. Have a nice day♡
The moments when I feel most like an adult are when I have my “shit together” or feel in control and the moments when I feel like a child are moments when I feel helpless, confused, uncertain. Bit maturing is about realizing you can be an adult and still be confused and not understand what you’re doing with your life. Adulthood is not about perfectly having it together all the time. But it does require greater awareness of your need to change.