My 30s Are the 20s That Were Taken From Me

I’m 33.

And sometimes I sit back and think—this is the life I was supposed to be living at 23. The joy. The clarity. The confidence. The success. The peace.

But trauma interrupted that timeline.

When you experience rape, when you go through deep emotional trauma, something gets stolen. Not just innocence—but years. Development. Safety. Lightness. You survive, but you’re not fully living. You’re processing. You’re coping. You’re trying to find language for something that shattered you.

So while everyone else may have been “having fun and living in their 20s,” I was surviving mine.

For a long time, I could’ve looked at that as loss. As wasted time. As something unfair that permanently derailed me.

But now? I see restoration.

My 30s don’t feel like I’m “late.” They feel like I’ve finally arrived.

I’m living with a joy that isn’t fake.
I’m building success that’s grounded in healing and wisdom.
I’m walking in discernment that came from pain, but isn’t controlled by it.

Scripture says that if the thief is found, he must restore sevenfold. That’s exactly what this feels like. Not a rewind. Not pretending nothing happened. But a divine restoration.

My 33rd birthday was a perfect example. It wasn’t just a birthday. It was God giving me the party He had planned for me all along—the celebrating that I didn’t get to do after my rape. Every smile, every gift, every cheer—it felt like He was saying: “This is yours. This is what I had for you all along.”

What was taken at 23 is being restored at 33—and honestly, it feels richer now. At 23, I may have had youth. But at 33, I have youth along with boundaries. I have healing. I have self-awareness. I have faith that has been tested and proven.

There’s something powerful about blooming after survival. Some people peak early. Some of us rise later—but we rise stronger.

If you’re in your 30s and feel like you’re just now stepping into the life you were “supposed” to have earlier, you’re not behind. You’re restored.

And restoration isn’t second-best.
It’s proof that what was meant for you never truly left your name.

My 30s aren’t me trying to relive my 20s.
They’re me reclaiming them.