Have you ever noticed that even the most cold-hearted people often soften up when they see children — even if they’re not their own? But even the kindest, warmest-hearted people tend to be less fond of adults, no matter how sweet they are. When you’re a child, you attract attention, people love to teach you things, give you gifts, try to impress or make you laugh. They’re kind and indulgent with you.
The Psychological Paradox of Empathy
And then you grow up. Did you notice how other adults start looking at you sideways, warily, from under their brows? How many times a day do you catch empty, indifferent, cold stares? How often do you get hit by someone’s aggression, someone else’s irritation spills on you, people compete with you, try to outdo you, get ahead of you, profit at your expense — or at least not miss out themselves?
An adult is a target for frustrated impulses, anger, dominance, attempts to break and control you. Your life becomes a battlefield — for resources, time, a kind word. You dodge one draining situation only to have another one come flying straight into your face — just as nasty.
And only the flickering trail of warm childhood memories gives you hope that human kindness is still out there — though it’s getting harder to believe it ever really happened to you.
Or did you just imagine it?
Why Doesn’t Anyone Feel Sorry for Adults?
When you’re an adult, it’s like you’re no longer allowed to be weak. You have no immunity to rudeness, no armor against judgment. Society assumes: you should handle it. And don’t you dare complain.
Psychologists call this the loss of visible vulnerability. A child is small, wide-eyed — they trigger a natural instinct to protect. An adult? A potential threat. Or at least, a competitor. We don’t see a victim — we see a rival.
This is called the deindividuation effect. You stop being “Masha who loves cats” and become “a woman in her 30s,” “a guy in line,” “a middle manager.” A mask. A label. That’s it. You’re no longer a person — you’re a function.
The Philosophy of Loneliness: Why Adults Must Be Tough
As we grow up, we adopt an unspoken rule: if you’re soft — you’ll get eaten alive. Even if there’s a whole zoo of tenderness inside you, outside you wear a stone face. And the longer you wear it, the deeper it fuses with your skin.
Existentialist philosophers called this alienation. We kind of pull away from ourselves in order to survive among others. Because man to man — who is he? Sadly, not a friend. More often — a trigger, an obstacle, noise.
You look at people in the street — and instead of faces you see barriers. They see you the same way. So everyone lives in their own little cocoon where kindness is a risk, and trust — almost foolishness.
Why Does Growing Up Hurt So Much? The Loss of Unconditional Love
As a child, people smile at you just because you exist. As an adult — only if you’ve done something. Or if they want something from you. Unconditional love fades, and conditional relationships take its place.
You’re good — if you’re useful. You’re pleasant — if you’re convenient. You’re accepted — if you fit in. It’s like social rent: you pay with your energy, time, and by adjusting to other people’s expectations. Want warmth? Pay with attention, favors, loyalty.
And it creates an inner ache: for those times when you were loved just for being you. When you could cry in public without fear of being fired, humiliated, or ghosted. When you didn’t have to defend your right to be human.
How to Stay Yourself in the Adult World?
What do you do if you don’t want to go numb? If you still carry that child inside you who believes in kind words, gentleness, support?
The answer may sound simple, but it’s the only one: start with yourself.
Be the person who smiles at a stranger for no reason.
Who doesn’t take their anger out on others, but simply asks, “Are you okay?”
Who doesn’t turn connection into a transaction, but just shares — with no strings attached.
Because adulthood is not about being cold. True adulthood is when you choose not to take revenge on the world for your pain, but to become someone who can still truly feel. Even if it’s risky. Even if it’s inconvenient.
I Stay True to Myself, but They Call Me Immature: Adulthood as Performance
You laugh loudly — people ask if something’s wrong with you.
You say you’re tired — they tell you to pull yourself together.
You like cartoons, soft toys, walking barefoot in the grass — they label you as immature.
“You’re not acting like a grown woman.” And how, exactly, should one act?
In today’s world, adulthood is a mask, a costume, a behavioral dress code. Serious face, heavy gaze, strict schedule, emotionless logic. If you don’t fit in — you’re doing something wrong, and people underestimate you, mock you, or try to “diagnose” you.
But the truth is, immaturity and a preserved vibrant soul are not the same thing.
Immaturity is avoiding responsibility.
But being yourself means not being afraid to live authentically.
To feel, to love, to get tired, to dream, to make mistakes, to be strange, to be bright, to rejoice at the first snow and dream of colorful markers.
True strength isn’t about playing a role, but about not losing yourself in this endless performance of others’ expectations
As long as you’re real — you’re alive. Everything else is just a role you’ll eventually grow tired of playing.