One of my most popular posts on this site (besides the uber-searched-for topics of American Girl Dolls and Why People Get Upset About Swearing. Talk about some heated discussions with some, um, interesting viewpoints– who knew?) is 10 Reasons I Am Failing Adulthood.

In it, I confess that I pretty much feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. That, and the undeniable fact that my housekeeping (and decorating) skills leave something to be desired. Sure, it’s a humorous post, but I think there’s something deeper underneath. Other people besides me probably also have that niggling feeling that they’re faking their way through adulthood. Isn’t it delightful when we realize we’re not the only ones harboring those icky feelings that we’re doing everything wrong? “Me, too” is potentially the most comforting, uniting sentence ever uttered.

I’m writing about that very subject again today on Scary Mommy. (And yes, I am totally excited to be published on SM twice in one month!) It’s sort of a follow-up to my Failing Adulthood Post. I share a few more embarrassing adult failings that contribute to the sensation that I’m an imposter of a grown-up. Word to the wise: Don’t take it all that seriously. I’m not really consumed by self-loathing because I am incapable of operating a pair of chopsticks. (Seriously, though, it is kind of humiliating . . .) Here’s an excerpt:

 I’m a 37-year-old mother of two, and I have a confession: I am totally faking my way through adulthood. No matter how many grocery lists I write, tiny fingernails I clip, and family dentist appointments I schedule, I can’t shake the feeling that I have absolutely no business being in charge of myself, and certainly not in charge of the two small beings I claim on my taxes. Here’s some evidence that I am merely pretending to be a grown-up:

1.    I don’t iron. Ever. In fact, after a few years of toting my unused ironing board around every time I moved to a new home, I finally gave up and gifted it to my domestically refined brother. He knows how to iron. I prefer the tried and true “throw it in the dryer with a damp washcloth” trick. Or if things get really desperate, the “hang it in the bathroom while you shower” strategy. I mean, I buy clothes at Target. It’s not like the cotton ribbed-tank requires much in the way of wrinkle control.

2.    I don’t take clothes to the drycleaner. Aren’t adults supposed to do that? In Sex and the City, weren’t they always picking shit up at the cleaners? That is waaay too much work for me. See Item 1. Whenever I accidentally buy something that says “Dry clean only,” I fume for days, wear it unwashed too many times to be couth, and then jam it up into my closet, vowing that I will totally get it dry cleaned. I think you know how this story ends…


I hope you’ll stop by and read the rest of 10 Signs I Have Adult Imposter Syndrome at Scary Mommy!

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