Let’s talk about adulting

Adulthood doesn’t come with a handbook. There’s no guide, no list of instructions to follow when you start making decisions that shape your life and not only your life but for those around you as well. It just creeps up on you. You go from being led through life by your parents, your teachers, or someone older, to suddenly standing on your own feet, realizing that you’ve become the adult in the room.

I had one of those moments last lately. A friend lost her mother, and for the first time, I didn’t need an invitation or reminder to attend the vigil. I just felt like I should be there. Something about the situation struck a chord deep within me, an unspoken responsibility to show up, even though no one asked me to. It wasn’t the first vigil I’d ever been to, but it was the first I attended out of pure conviction, not obligation.

I thought back to my first vigil. I was a kid, maybe too young for it to count as a real experience. It was for my grandfather, and I don’t remember much except the weight of the event lingering in the air, though I didn’t quite understand it. My second vigil was for an aunt, but I had been dragged there by my parents. I didn’t stay long, and didn’t have time to reflect. The third was a courtesy, not personal—a few work colleagues and I had shown up to support our boss when her friend passed. But that wasn’t about me.

This time, it felt different. As I sat through the night, surrounded by friends and other strangers who shared the same somber energy, I couldn’t help but feel a deeper sense of presence. I didn’t know anyone at the vigil apart from my friends who were a handful. Still, there I was, trying to figure out what to say, and what words could possibly bring comfort in such moments of loss. This is where adulthood hit me like a ton of bricks—there’s no script for these things. There’s no “how-to” manual for supporting a grieving friend.

It’s moments like these when I realize that our parents should prepare us for these situations long before we encounter them. We learn about so many things growing up—how to write a school fees payslip, how to get a job, how to drive a car—but no one ever teaches us how to handle loss, grief, or those moments when life suddenly becomes all too real. These should be conversations we’re having early on, because they’re inevitable parts of life. Yet, it feels like a subject that’s avoided in many homes, and I wonder why.

I wish we talked more openly with our parents about tough topics like death and loss. But having difficult conversations with parents, especially in this day and age, has never been easy. It’s not just about death either—talking about mental health, emotions, or even career anxieties can feel like walking on eggshells. There’s this generational gap where older generations often don’t know how to have these open dialogues.

Why don’t parents prepare us for the inevitability of these hard moments? Why do we skirt around the very conversations we need the most guidance on? Perhaps it’s because they didn’t have those conversations themselves. But that’s all the more reason to change things now.

It’s funny, though. When I look at my parents, they attend funerals and vigils with a sense of duty, even when they barely know the person who passed. They show up because that’s what you do. I’m still in awe of how they move so effortlessly through these heavy life events, something I can’t fathom just yet. Maybe it’s a generational thing. Maybe it’s because I’m still young and haven’t yet grown into the version of myself who attends because it’s simply what needs to be done. Or maybe, as a Gen Z-er, I’m part of a generation that handles these situations differently.

These thoughts had me reflecting on other “firsts” that have jolted me into realizing adulthood was here to stay. Like the first time I had to budget my own money, deciding between eating out or paying a bill. Or the first time I filed taxes and realized I couldn’t just hand it over to my parents anymore. Or the first time I had to make a doctor’s appointment for myself, realizing that now, my health was entirely my responsibility.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that adulthood isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about showing up, even when you don’t know exactly what to say or do. It’s about learning to hold space for others, and for yourself, as you navigate the messiness of life.

Mark Peter Sseggiriinya

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