Last week, my friends (who are married with a child) did a grown up thing; they went to the tip. But they also did a very kind thing; they came to collect my rubbish to take with them. I don’t have a car or a driving licence. Generally speaking, grown-ups have cars, I get lifts. But that’s not the only difference. Aged 41, I’m an adult, but as I’m single with no kids, I don’t have many commitments or ‘adult’ responsibilities. Does this make me childish? And is that how others see me?

Psychoanalysts consider the human personality, or psyche, in terms of Freud’s substantial Id, Ego and Super-Ego theory. This roughly breaks down into a child (Id) with two levels of parent. It’s the Super-Ego, the driving, sensible force guiding the Ego, the driver of the car who has their work cut out because the Id and the Ego are huge pains in the arse.  Bern then went and broke down the Ego (one of Freud’s ‘Parents’) down a little further to three Egos (still with me?) and they are ‘Parent’, ‘Adult’ and ‘Child’. In short, we’re a hot mess of childish impulses and desires with adult rules and reasoning that keep us alive and socially functional. And keeping us all in line, is our internal ‘parent’, telling us what to do. When you become an actual parent, you have to summon this voice and apply it to real small humans. The parent within is no longer just addressing themselves- they’ve been projected out of the psyche and into the real world, like a 3D hologram at a stadium gig. Yes, if you are a parent, Wembley stadium is now your life. The person that everyone sees projected centre-stage is the ‘parent’ part of you, not the adult within you, the “real” you. And this imposter isn’t going anywhere for a long time. My reading of this is simple; If you don’t have to summon the parental voice from within IRL, you get to stay being ‘you’. An adult, but not a parent. You are also in a minority, as statistically most adults are parents. 

So what does childish really mean in an adult? Perceived lack of responsibility can be mistaken for immaturity. But also, when you don’t have to deal with serious shit all the time, you can travel a little lighter and behave how you want to. I had a look at typical characteristics of a child’s ego, and in most buzzfeed articles, these are listed more as desirable attributes; confidence, empathy, consideration, curiosity, creativity......no, we don’t want to know about this child. So I look up “typical characteristics of a bad child” and I get a little closer to interesting; frequent temper tantrums, defiance, destructive behaviour and refusal to comply with even the simple demands of day to day tasks. Boom. There it is.

Frequent temper tantrums. I am aware of the full-throttle effect of a tiny person’s temper tantrum. And, as an adult, with a fully engaged Parent-Ego (remember Bern?) for the most part in control of my tantrum dial, I don’t tend to have them. But there are lots of things that deserve a tantrum. As a single person, the world isn’t designed for me. It all started with that damned ark and the “couples only” rule. I had a row with an independent cinema chain once because their membership offer for single people was more expensive than half of a joint membership. I was told there was only a slight difference. Would I therefore be getting slightly more than one seat or slightly more than one free bag of popcorn, I asked? A tantrum may have been more effective than full-snark. See also; buying single theatre seats, booking any holiday or hotel room, car insurance (irrelevant to me, but..) and my personal most hated thing in the world Couples’ Gym Membership. Living on your own is expensive, leaving less money to do interesting things, which are more expensive if you do them on your own anyway. A good way of expressing the insidiousness of the more general cost of being single vs being in a relationship; I go to a friend’s house for dinner and bring a bottle of wine. A couple, two people, will also turn up with one bottle of wine. I’ve not had a tantrum over this, but maybe that is why it keeps on happening.

Defiance. As an optimistic person, I spend most of my life feeling like I’m winning a series of small but significant victories against the world (well, on a good day). I definitely feel that defiance courses through my veins, more so than most other attributes. I bought a dress last week. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought or worn a dress. It is ridiculous, really, to be worn either Samba dancing or at a push, Ice Skating. Now that nobody really is leaving the house, it’s an inappropriate purchase for many reasons. But I give myself a little nod for it. “Well done you”. It’s validation that I’m on the right track, because not everyone is lucky enough to be able to buy themselves a silly dress. And I am also giving two fingers to the pandemic, as I see beyond it to a happier time, when I can go out dressed as an Ice-Skater. Yes, defiant. 

Holidays. Going on holiday solo feels a little defiant, because whatever you do, you can’t shake the feeling that people are looking at you and thinking “Oh look, she’s on holiday on her own” (see again minority adult who isn’t a parent). The hardest thing about it for me is not driving, actually. A retired couple befriended me on one holiday, mainly due to the lift situation. They kept on inviting me to have lunch or dinner with them, and the wife would ask me every time in a concerned voice, if I “... was ok?” and then go on to say she didn’t think she could go on holiday on her own. When I asked her why, she said, shaking her head and looking at the floor,  “I couldn’t, I just couldn’t” as if the very idea itself was too traumatic to even entertain. We had the same conversation a few times that week, “Are you...still ok? They saw my decision to come on holiday on my own as misjudged defiance. I just thought I was extremely lucky to be able to go away and do exactly what I wanted for 10 days. As long as the buses were working.

Destructive behaviour. 

Like anyone that is left to their own devices, I am prone to over-indulgence. I have an on/off relationship with tobacco; I know it’s not good for me, but sometimes I just like to smoke and be bad (see also; defiance). Another part of not having responsibilities is that you are less accountable, so don’t have the niggling guilt-voice tuned in as clearly as I imagine you would if you had e.g three-year-old triplets to look after.  So, I guess my measuring stick as to where ‘destructive’ starts and where just ‘fun, relaxing, you deserve it’ ends may be longer than other people’s. I also never really have to think that hard about whether I should have that ‘last glass of wine’, because I know that, short of a nuclear disaster hitting SE London, or a meteor crashing into the side of my house, I WILL get a good night’s sleep. I’m built to sleep and take it very seriously. So I can probably destroy myself a little more than most, without my world literally being destroyed around me. I am aware that this may come and clatter me over the head in a few years’ time with significant health hardship, but for now I’m sticking to the mantra; sleep cures everything. So a bit of destruction is ok.

Refusal to comply with even the simple demands of day to day tasks. I read this as chores. Kids hate ‘em, adults live their lives around them. The man that lives next door to my mother washes BOTH of his cars (two cars!) every Saturday morning. Is this the definition of adulthood? 

I am messy. And I live alone. So my relationship with my home is one of a guilty secret; I can tidy it to look ok quite quickly, but if left to my own devices, why bother? Friends berate me for not ‘tidying as I go’. I have a pathological need to make a mess though, and then fix it all at once. ‘Tidying as you go’ means that you are tidying every day. Marie Kondo says you only have to do it once in your whole lifetime and then you will never have to tidy again. This is my kind of tidying. However, Marie Kondo’s session involves setting aside six months of your life to do it properly. I once used a torch in my bathroom for six months because I didn’t have the right light bulb to hand to change the one in the ceiling. 

So yes, I do share a few characteristics with (bad) children. But on balance, I see myself as a grown-up who is succeeding in the world, even if I am not always treated as one. I have a friend who is very successful, a mother and a large home-owner who insists on paying for everything all of the time, which is generous. And when we’ve been away together, insists on doing all of the cooking and shopping. My single friend and I can’t understand why she’d leave one household of chores only to voluntarily land herself with another. The hologram has consumed her. She insists, and we relax and eat what’s served. Like slightly spoiled children, but lucky us, right? 

So maybe being treated like a child isn’t so bad. Especially if you have other “childish” single friends to play with. Like children, we enjoy the luxury of being able to prioritise not only fun, but friendship over everything else. I can choose to have as many relationships as I like, based purely on my wants and needs and I have the time to be a good friend to others. Yes, epic friendship is our prize for not-over-burdening ourselves with responsibility.

As you get older, the landscape inevitably shifts a little. I’m sure that as small children turn into teenagers, perhaps God mums and friends of the family play a bigger role in family life as an additional referee. I may be called on to unleash my own Parent-Ego hologram on someone’s unsuspecting rebellious teenager that they can’t get through to. As our parents’ generation gets older, it is the people without families who are able to open up their time to be with the people that really need it. But for now, I’m going to relax. And be defiant and (start to) have tantrums and refuse to do chores. I can sleep more and worry less. I don’t have to take on a bigger mortgage, a more serious job or focus everything around my relationship with my household. I can nurture real friendships and enjoy them all the more for it. I don’t have to spend a lot of time telling someone else what to do, or worrying about how someone else is thinking or feeling.  Fundamentally, for now, my life is about me. I can just be myself. But I really should get that driving licence.