The Quiet, Messy, Magical Reality of Being a Woman in Your Thirties

There’s a funny thing about being a woman in your thirties. You grow up thinking it will all make sense by now. That your thirties are where the pieces come together, the chaos settles, and you finally arrive. But if you're anything like me- and so many of us- you’ve realised the truth is quieter, more complicated, and far more beautiful than anyone ever warned you.

Some of the biggest wins in your thirties come with no applause. Letting go of a person, a dream, or a timeline that no longer fits doesn’t always look like a crisis- it can look like getting out of bed when your heart is heavy. It can look like cooking for one, deleting the number, unfollowing someone who once meant the world, or finally learning to say "no" without guilt. These moments rarely make it onto Instagram, but they matter. Deeply.

In a world that constantly tells us where we “should” be by now- married, with children, climbing the ladder, owning property- it’s easy to feel behind. You scroll and see engagement rings, baby bumps, house keys, job promotions, and smiling faces. You feel like you missed a class everyone else attended while you were just trying to survive your own story.

But here’s the truth no one puts in the highlight reel: there is no one version of success anymore. There are women in their thirties raising babies. There are women building businesses. There are women leaving marriages. Women healing from childhood trauma. Women finally booking solo trips, starting again, or resting for the first time in years. Women saying, “Actually, that dream was never mine to begin with.”

And none of us are doing it wrong.

I clung to the dream of stability for so long. 

I held onto the hope that I would be the woman who had it all- a family, children, and my career as a solicitor. And in many ways, I built my life around that vision. Most of the people I’ve come across in my line of work do fit that traditional timeline. They’re married. Settled. Secure. For years, I felt like I was fighting to keep up. I endured trauma and cruelty trying to keep my own family together. I was in a relationship held together more by pain than love- a trauma bond that slowly broke me down.

I couldn’t keep sacrificing myself for a life that hurt so deeply.

I still grieve the life I thought I’d have. I still feel the ache of that dream I worked so hard for. But that’s the funny thing about life- it rarely goes to plan. And as painful as it was, it gave me clarity: I only get one shot at this. And I’d rather walk alone than spend a lifetime hurting.

Being a woman in your thirties is confusing. You’re supposed to have it all “together,” yet here I am- feeling like I’m drowning, often doubting. I question myself every day. I feel inadequate a lot of the time, especially surrounded by people in stable marriages, living the “normal” life we grew up seeing on television.

At work, I feel different. I feel judged. A single parent. A woman with drama trailing behind her. I didn’t choose this. But I show up. I do my best. I pour everything I have into my children and into rebuilding a version of myself that’s real, not just resilient.

Being a woman in your thirties often means grieving the timeline you were sold- the marriage you thought you’d have by now, the home you imagined, the version of yourself that no longer fits. But alongside the grief is something else: clarity. You begin to understand yourself better. You stop needing to be everything to everyone. Your friendships become fewer, but deeper. You crave real over perfect. Peace over performance.

You start to feel like you’re floating- between who you were and who you’re becoming. Still healing, still triggered, still learning the hard way. But also still rising.

Because being in your thirties is learning that not everyone will understand the breakup, the boundary, the silence. And that’s okay. The freedom you’ve been chasing? It comes the moment you realise you don’t have to explain yourself anymore.

So here’s to the women in their thirties- the ones quietly doing the work, unlearning, rebuilding, resting. The ones figuring it out in real time, making it up as they go. The ones living life unfiltered, unsure, but somehow still showing up. You are allowed to change. You are allowed to take your time. You are allowed to want more, or less, or something different altogether.

We’re not behind. We’re just writing different stories. The wins might be quiet- letting go of a relationship, setting a boundary, saying “I don’t owe you an explanation.” But those moments matter. They are the roots of real growth.

And somewhere in the middle of the grief, the growth, and the grit, there’s this small but mighty reminder:

We are still thirty, flirty, and thriving.

Not because everything is perfect, but because we’ve survived enough to know what really matters. We flirt with possibility, thrive in truth, and find joy in moments no one else sees.

So if you’re in your thirties and feel lost, different, or like you somehow failed- please hear me when I say: you didn’t. You’re becoming. You’re alive. You’re trying. And that matters more than you know.

There is nothing shameful about taking your time. About choosing yourself. About choosing peace.

And above all, here’s what keeps me going when doubt creeps in: I only get one life. Just one. Not a dress rehearsal. Not a second draft. And I refuse to spend mine apologising for being too soft, too single, too complicated. Life is too short to wait for the perfect timeline, the perfect partner, the perfect anything. I won’t let the version of life I thought I’d have stop me from embracing the one I do have- raw, real, and still full of possibilities.

Because what if success isn’t a husband and two kids and a mortgage by 35? What if it’s walking away from what breaks you- even if it means walking alone? What if it’s finding your voice after years of silence, reclaiming your power even with shaking hands?

Choosing yourself isn’t loneliness- it’s liberation. And there’s something quietly powerful about a woman who knows her value without needing it validated by someone else.

This decade isn’t about perfection. It’s about power.
And it’s yours now.