Rabbetting On: The zillennial battle with biology - Malibu vs motherhood

Last week we put the world to rights about Halloween costumes, with a desperate plea to supermarkets to rethink their tired designs (seen one vampire, seen them all). Read my ramblings here.

This week, I'm going to be writing about something a bit more sincere - the *zillennial battle with biology. And it starts with the November edition of Stylist magazine.

I was going about my daily Instagram scroll when I stumbled across the cover of this month's edition of Stylist - as ever it was beautifully laid, and illustrated, it ticked all the boxes of a sartorial fashion magazine, but what struck me was the headline 'Generation Tick Tock'.

A clever play on the addictive app (there's a sub-editor out there who should be very proud), but also a frighteningly accurate phrase to represent this particular phase of my life.

For context, I am making the big, scary move back home this weekend. I'm leaving behind my gorgeous two-bed party palace and moving back in with Dad. A move that has left me feeling anxious for months.

Did I ever think that at the age of 26, I'd be moving back home (for the third time in as many years)? Did my carefully laid out life map include so many start, and stop moments? To put it simply no - and I'm struggling to come to terms with it.

My friends and I have become quite comfortable chucking around the 'Covid delay' excuse. We were robbed of our early 20s, forced to stay inside, and refused the years we should have been partying and making mistakes.

All very true and very valid reasons for being further behind than my brothers' generation, who were handed their party years in the heyday of house music, Hooch and Tammy Girl.

Now, on the "wrong side of 25", I am dealing with the repercussions of that delay. I am not financially or mentally stable enough to settle down into a mortgage, marriage, or motherhood but my biology is insisting otherwise.

At least once a month I'm struck down with this all-encompassing need to nest, to spend hours on Pinterest planning weddings that are wildly out of reach and scroll through videos of giggling babies.

My matriarchal juices are flowing, my body is screaming "I'm ready to pack lunches and do the school run", while my mind is in a beach bar in Mykonos sipping on an overpriced Malibu and Coke.

Never mind the Covid delay, there's the cost factor too, how can I possibly enter the next phase of my life when it appears all roads point to financial destruction? I feel unashamedly let down that we live in a world where it is so hard to grow up and flee the nest.

It's widely acknowledged among my peers that adulthood doesn't start until your mid-20s now. But here I ask, who is telling all this to my biological clock? The influx of hormones, the broodiness, and the desire to procreate are built into our biology spanning thousands of years. That doesn't stop because of Covid or Cozzie Livs.

And so, what do we do? Throw ourselves headlong into our careers, in a job market that is tumultuous at best. Rent for years without being able to save for a mortgage? Or continue to live paycheck to paycheck, as the cost of being young continues to accelerate faster than my boyfriend's Mercedes?

All the while dealing with the nagging voice in the back of my head that continues to say "You should be further along by now".

So I'm issuing a call out to the 20-somethings, who have bought a house, had a baby, or are headed down the aisle, please tell me how? I'd be surprised if I accomplish any of these things before I'm 30 - and by then my dream wedding dress will be woefully out of style.

*Zillennials are those born between (on the cusp of) the Millennial generation and Generation Z. Born between 1990 and 2000. Zillenials might own a Moncrieff necklace, but they definitely don't own a house.