I too became legally an adult at the age of 17. I thought I was very responsible and mature then, but I had a lot of growing up to do.
I think the day it officially registered that I was an adult was when my toilet overflowed at like 1am and there was nobody else to clean it up but me. Well, my husband helped. I just looked at him and said, “Whee! We’re grown ups.” We were 23.
I was going to vote for over 27, but considering how that dominates, I decided to go for the other extreme and went for under 15.
There was never any defining moment of “I’m on my own now”. I’ve always been fairly independent and felt that I could handle myself. I’ve always had a very long-term outlook on life–I was contributing to my retirement fund in high school. I didn’t get another dime from the parents after age 18, and even before then I was largely paying for myself. All the major steps in my life, like selecting a college, moving out, getting a “career” job, buying my first car, buying my house, etc. all felt totally natural and I didn’t even feel the need to consult with anyone. And although I’ve certainly gained experience over time, I can’t recall a past “me” that was fundamentally incapable of these same things.
When I was 26, I got married, passed the Bar exam and got my first full-time job, all in the span of three months. That was a bit of a watershed. I voted 26, but I easily could have voted much older than that. There are times when I don’t feel grown up yet, and I am 34 and the mother of a preschooler.
15, or so I thought at the time.
I’m 25, live on my own, 3 hours away from the nearest relative, with a full time job. I don’t feel grown-up.
I think it was when my choices actually could mean life or death for those other than myself, and there was no one I could call for “help”. That was when it first hit me, it was a strange thought.
I’m 30. I’m still waiting for it to happen.
When I turned 25 (that very week), my friend’s brother died. I bought a plane ticket to Atlanta, rented a car, and drove from Atlanta to Athens to go to the funeral. I stayed at the home of some people I didn’t know (his inlaws) and on the way back to Atlanta, stayed in a hotel by myself.
All of this together seemed super amazingly grown up to me. I felt like I grew up a ton that week. I bought a house within a year of that.
The week I started my student teaching, I started to feel like a grown-up. I hadn’t been around actual kids much in my college years, but after about 15 minutes of teenagers, I was like “I may not be as mature as my parents, but I am sure as hell not one of these creatures anymore!”
Around 26 or 27, when I started to seriously traveling for work. Arriving at an airport on your own and getting straight down to business feels like being a grown-up. I started teaching at a university at that age, as well, and that will do it to you.
18: When I left home and hitched to NYC.
21 was the first time I left the western US. I went to Taiwan with a roundtrip ticket and $500. Came back a year later with twice as much money.
A year alone with almost no money in a foreign country equated with being grown up
I voted 20. That was the age when I got a full-time job and moved out on my own.
I am 19 and I still do not feel grown up. I feel just as much of a kid as I did when I was 16, except now I am in college. But then again I always have acted a bit old for my age anyway.
I still don’t. Maybe when I have a career house spouse and kids.
Not saying this is you, but I’ve known plenty of people who were on their own and far from grown up. Hell I still do. And I don’t mean in a cute endearing way. This seems to be getting worse IMO.
It’s come on so gradually, I can’t tell you when it happened. Little bits came on as I left for college, started grad school, rented an apartment, rented a house, finished grad school, got a real job, bought a house, got married, and had a baby. Age range: 18-30 years old.
Since my daughter was born, it’s clear to me that I am definitely 100% grown up. I’m the one who picks up toys, cooks dinner, does laundry, cleans the kitchen, sits up with the sick baby in the middle of the night, and is no longer impressed by the bright young things downtown. Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel so old.
Maybe in five years when I hit 80. Then again, maybe not.