My name is Katie Sparks.

I turned 23 last week – on Monday. That’s when things really started going downhill. I wouldn't say I'm depressed or anything like that, I’d just describe myself as confused. Me and my brain don’t see eye-to-eye. Perhaps it’s my birthday, that’s all I can really pin it on – they do say significant birthdays can cause a person to go a bit loopy for a while – although they’re usually like a mid-life crisis type of thing, and I'm hardly middle aged. The only real significance of this birthday is that I have just become the same age that my mum was when she married my Dad. As the age of 23 approached this fact began to niggle at me, and now it is here I can’t escape it.

I think the main problem is this: throughout our lives we’re compared to our parents, and for females – mainly our mums. It’s all “Katie haven’t you got your mothers eyes!” or “Katie isn't your hair beautiful, you look just like your mum.” – that’s the main one, my hair, it is the same as my mums – bright orange. That’s why we’re always compared I reckon, the two most distinctive features, hair and eyes, the hair is so bright it probably just gets a mention for catching their attention. Other than that though I wouldn't say I'm much like my mum, looks or otherwise. I think the hair just takes away from the fact we’re nothing alike and confuses people into believing differently. Sure, we have the same hair, but I've got the face shape of my Dad, long and petite, my mums is more oval. I also take after my Father metabolism-wise, as in I hardly need to exercise and still remain quite skinny (and no, I'm not bragging) and I think my mum has probably always resented that. The problem though, with the constant comparisons to our parents, is that there comes an age when people stop comparing you - and you start to compare yourself.

When my Mum was my age she had married my Dad, and a year later was expecting my brother. I however have been in and out of relationships since I was 15. Well, I say ‘in and out’ what I really mean is that I have barely been single since Year 10 of Secondary School, back in 2004, it is an affliction of mine that I tend to just jump out of the snug arms of one guy and right into the exciting new arms of another. This is what I'm realising now at 23, the age my Mum got married, that I get with a guy, fall head-over-heels, get scared or bored or both, and just as he tries to lift me into The Bridal Carry, I catapult myself into the arms of another.

I think what I am now realising after having a stand-off with my brain for the past few weeks, is that I am scared, possibly petrified, not necessarily of marriage, not even of being like my Mum – she’s everything I want to be – I just don’t know that I am ready to be her yet. This is what scares me I suppose: when you get married your own life is put of the back burner, I've realised this recently, everything my Mums done for me, but I know I'm not ready for it myself. There’s so much that I want to do with my life and becoming 23 has just put the pressure on. I have now realised that the clock is ticking, not some maternal must-get-pregnant-soon Look Who’s Talking type of clock, more of an omg-I-need-to-achieve-life-goals-soon sort of thing.  

The reason I'm putting this all on a blog, which to be honest is a bit of a foreign concept to me at the moment, is because my native speaking friend introduced me to the idea, said that ‘writing out your problems is the first stage to solving them’ – therapist techno-babble if you ask me, but I figured I’d give it a go!