Or: How I Accidentally Became One of Those Annoying Healthy People
by Erika Matic – 33 years old, emotionally stable, properly hydrated, and deeply suspicious of how well things are going
Last Saturday, I turned 33.
Which feels fake, honestly. Not because I feel young. But because I distinctly remember being 26 and treating my nervous system like a Balkan rental car.
And now?
Now I wake up early voluntarily.
I exercise daily.
I drink water recreationally.
I stretch.
I buy protein-rich pudding with genuine enthusiasm.
This is not the rebellious future teenage Erika imagined for herself. And yet, against all odds, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.
Unfortunately, this creates a small social problem. Because externally, my life currently looks like a cautionary tale about self-denial.
- I barely drink.
- I work out every day.
- I spend most of my time with my husband and child.
- I go to bed early.
- I enjoy routines.
- I track things.
- I have opinions about magnesium.
To many people, this appears deeply tragic. Like I accidentally joined a wellness cult run by emotionally organised Scandinavians.
People speak to me the way you speak to someone recovering from a severe personality injury.
- “But don’t you miss going out?”
- “Don’t you get bored?”
- “Don’t you ever just let loose?”
And this is where things become awkward. Because the answer is: No. Not really.
The Strange Realisation That Peace Is Better Than Chaos
There’s a very specific illusion modern adulthood sells women. That freedom must look chaotic to count.
- Spontaneous.
- Messy.
- Overstimulated.
- Slightly self-destructive.
- Preferably photographed under neon lighting while holding a drink named after emotional instability.
Meanwhile, stability gets marketed like surrender.
Cooking? Domestic.
Working out? Obsessive.
Being present with your family? Settling.
Enjoying quiet? Concerning.
And honestly, this is incredible branding work from people whose nervous systems are held together by cold beer and unresolved childhood trauma.
Because somewhere along the line, we collectively decided that peace looked boring.
There is also something financially inconvenient about emotionally stable people. Because once you sleep properly, exercise regularly, maintain decent relationships, and stop using shopping, alcohol, or chaos as emotional anaesthesia, entire industries start losing access to your nervous system.
Suddenly you’re harder to market to.
Harder to manipulate.
Harder to keep emotionally dependent on consumption disguised as self-care.
Which is awkward for an economy heavily invested in dysregulation.
When in reality? Peace is elite.
You know what’s underrated?
Waking up without anxiety.
Feeling strong in your body.
Liking yourself when you’re alone.
Having energy.
Having routines that support you instead of slowly killing you for character development.
The Tragedy of Becoming Insufferably Healthy
The problem with self-improvement is that eventually it stops feeling impressive and starts feeling normal.
At first, losing weight felt dramatic. Stopping alcohol felt transformative. Training daily felt powerful.
Now?
It’s just… Tuesday.
This is deeply offensive to the human brain, which prefers transformation narratives where angels sing every time you choose grilled chicken over self-destruction.
But real change is much less cinematic.
It’s repetitive.
Quiet.
Slightly boring.
Until one day you realise your old coping mechanisms now feel exhausting instead of tempting. Which is honestly rude. Because nobody tells you that healing eventually removes your ability to romanticise your own dysfunction.
You stop glorifying burnout.
You stop treating suffering like personality depth.
You stop confusing emotional instability with passion.
Very disappointing for former dramatic people.
The Loneliness Nobody Mentions
There’s also another part people don’t talk about enough. Growth can get lonely. Not because anyone abandons you dramatically. Life just… shifts.
- You stop bonding through mutual chaos.
- You stop participating in the same habits.
- You stop needing distraction constantly.
- And suddenly your life becomes quieter.
At first, that quiet feels suspicious.
Like something must be wrong. Like happiness should be louder. More chaotic. More visible. But over time, you realise something slightly terrifying: You actually enjoy your own company.
Which feels dangerously close to emotional maturity.
- I spend most of my time with my husband.
- I genuinely love being with my family.
- I love training.
- I love working on our home.
- I love routines.
- I love making our life better in small, repetitive, almost invisible ways.
And while this sounds like the opening monologue of a woman who owns twelve beige sweaters and says things like “we should get into gardening,” I need everyone to understand: This is the best my life has ever been.
The Deeply Uncool Joy of Building a Life
At 33, my aspirations are no longer cinematic. I don’t dream of “escaping everything.” I don’t fantasise about disappearing into chaos for self-discovery. I don’t want a dramatic reinvention.
- I want a HYROX phase.
- More healthy recipes.
- More family lunches.
- More time with friends.
- More meaningful work.
- A kindergarten placement.
- More consistency.
- More memories.
- More strength.
- More peace.
Which sounds aggressively uninteresting until you realise something important: A calm life is not a small life.
And modern culture genuinely struggles with this concept.
We worship spectacle. Breakdowns. Public spirals. People “living fully” while privately deteriorating.
But quietly building a healthy, stable, meaningful existence? Apparently less content-friendly.
- No montage.
- No scandal.
- No poetic self-destruction.
- Just two adults trying to create a good life for themselves and their child while occasionally discussing protein content.
The Horror of Having Nothing to Escape From
I think that’s the real shift. For years, so much of adulthood revolves around escape.
Escaping stress.
Escaping yourself.
Escaping exhaustion.
Escaping dissatisfaction.
- Alcohol.
- Scrolling.
- Chaos.
- Noise.
- Distraction.
- Constant stimulation.
And then one day, if you’re lucky, you accidentally build a life you don’t need to escape from anymore.
Which is both beautiful and deeply disorienting. Because suddenly rest doesn’t feel like avoidance. Home doesn’t feel restrictive. Routine doesn’t feel oppressive.
Your life stops feeling like something you survive.
And starts feeling like something you participate in. That’s the part no self-improvement content prepares you for.
Not the discipline.
The peace after it.
The Ending That Feels Suspiciously Sincere
This year, I don’t really have grand wishes.
I just want to continue.
- Continue becoming stronger.
- Continue loving my family well.
- Continue building things slowly.
- Continue showing up consistently.
- Continue creating a life that feels good privately, not just performatively.
And maybe that’s adulthood in its least marketable form. Not becoming extraordinary. Just becoming deeply aligned with your own life.
Which sounds very soft and inspirational until you realise it often involves saying things like: “No thanks, I’d rather sleep properly.”
33 feels less like reinvention and more like maintenance. Which younger me would have found tragic.
Now? It feels luxurious.
Erika Matic writes about discipline, modern absurdity, emotional rebranding, and the deeply offensive discovery that stability can feel better than chaos. She believes peace is underrated, healing is surprisingly repetitive, and adulthood is mostly just choosing your future problems carefully.
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