Apparently, I have been doing my twenties all wrong.

Apparently, I’m supposed to raise my standards in my twenties. I’m not supposed to fall for anyone and everyone who gives me the slightest bit of affection. I’m not supposed to stare at my phone for days on end, waiting for a specific text from a specific person. I’m not supposed to get excited when someone puts the absolute minimum amount of effort into me. I’m not supposed to accept such poor treatment when I deserve so much more.

Apparently, I’m supposed to stop caring about people who couldn’t care less about me. I’m supposed to remove toxic people from my world — and from my mind. I’m supposed to stop replaying the moments we spent together. I’m supposed to stop asking myself what went wrong. I’m supposed to accept they are bad for me. I’m supposed to move on. I’m supposed to forget about them, even though I loved them.

Apparently, I’m supposed to practice self-care. I’m not supposed to stuff myself with fast food and caffeine and alcohol. I’m not supposed to put off doctor appointments, hair appointments, therapist appointments. I’m not supposed to care about my work, my friends, my family, more than I care about my own mental health. I’m not supposed to treat myself so terribly.

Apparently, I’m supposed to love myself. I’m not supposed to delete selfies. I’m not supposed to criticize myself every time I walk passed a mirror. I’m not supposed to struggle with my self-worth. I’m supposed to stand tall. I’m supposed to feel comfortable walking around without my makeup or my hair done. I’m supposed to appreciate my authentic, true self.

Apparently, I’m supposed to take risks. I’m supposed to leave my comfort zone. I’m supposed to put myself out there. I’m not supposed to lounge in my bedroom all day long. I’m not supposed to cancel plans at the last second to watch Netflix alone instead. I’m not supposed to hide myself away when I could be seeing some friends, seizing the day.

Apparently, I’m supposed to travel. I’m supposed to see the world. I’m not supposed to spend all of my time in the same town. I’m not supposed to turn down vacation days. I’m not supposed to repeat the same routine day after day without any variation.

Apparently, I’m supposed to get my life together. I’m supposed to come up with a five-year plan. I’m supposed to figure out what I want from this world and how I’m going to work on getting it. I’m not supposed to fumble through each day. I’m not supposed to have so many questions and so few answers. I’m not supposed to feel like such a screwup.

Apparently, I haven’t been doing any of the things I’m supposed to be doing in my twenties. I haven’t been living up to expectations. But I am trying my best. I am putting effort into bettering myself every single day. I might not be able to call myself perfect — but I can call myself a work in progress. I can call myself a fighter.