The Myth of Having It All Figured Out: On Turning 30 and Becoming Who I’m Meant to Be

I used to think 30 meant figuring it all out, finally getting it “right.” But now, standing on the edge of this new decade, I know better. This isn’t an ending- it’s a return. A beginning. A becoming.

I used to dread turning 30.

Not because I feared getting older, but because I thought I was supposed to arrive at this milestone having already become someone. Someone polished and professional. Someone who had a five-year plan, a color-coded calendar, a consistent morning routine, and maybe even an investment portfolio. You know- the kind of woman who “has it all figured out.”

Instead, here I am: about to cross into a new decade of life, and I don’t have all the answers. No consistent morning routine, only dreaming of owning a home, wondering what the hell an investment portfolio is anyway? But I’ve never felt more like myself.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

If you’d asked me a few years ago what 30 would look like, I probably would’ve instantly gone into a panic. I would have described something linear, stable, and defined. A “next step” after my twenties.
The decade where I’d finally get it all right- even though I felt so far away from all that I described.

But what I’ve discovered- what I’ve felt in my bones the closer this birthday has begun creeping in- is that your 30 doesn’t mark a point of completion. It marks a return.

To myself.
To my truth.
To a deeper clarity I didn’t know I was missing.

This shift didn’t come from a place of fighting for the “ideal image” and perfectionism. It came from surrender. Letting go of who I thought I was supposed to be, and making space for who I really am.

And the wildest part?

I’m more excited about this version of me than I ever was about the one I was trying to create before! She doesn’t need to prove anything. She’s not hustling for validation. She’s not measuring her worth by her productivity, her income, or whether she’s done enough “healing” for the week.

She’s softer. Clearer. Stronger.
Still becoming, but anchored in that becoming.

Because the truth is, we’re never really “finished”.
Not at 25. Not at 30. Not ever.

And chasing that illusion only keeps us from recognizing the magic of where we already are.

My twenties were full of trial and error (so, so much trial and error!), shapeshifting and seeking. Despite the highest highs and lowest lows that encompassed my 20’s, I honour every version of me that got me here. Now, as this beautiful and confident soul stepping boldly into her 30’s, I move into this next decade as someone who won’t keep chasing growth. I want to embody it. I want to live it in real time- not just when things look shiny, but when they’re messy, uncertain, and real.

I don’t want a life that’s impressive.
I want a life that’s honest.
And I want to build that life from the inside out- with devotion, with soul, and with my full self at the center of it.

So no, I don’t have it all figured out. I’m certain I never will- and for the first time, I’m actually ok with that.

Because despite not knowing it all, I know what’s mine now. I know what I value. I know who I want to be when no one’s watching.

And that clarity? It’s worth more to me than any checklist I used to measure my success against.

Turning 30 isn’t the end of anything. It’s the beginning of everything I’m ready to claim. And I can feel something big rising. Something honest. Something beautiful.

A becoming that doesn’t have to be rushed.
One that feels real.

I’m not done growing, but I am done shrinking.
And that feels like the most sacred milestone of all.