The Lab of the 20s: Why My "Lost Years" Were Actually My Greatest Investment

I used to carry a heavy, silent grief for my younger self. For a long time, I lived with the gnawing sense that I had been robbed. I felt like I had lost the prime of my youth, half of my twenties, to the suffocating, paralyzing weight of depression and anxiety. While my peers were walking across graduation stages, moving abroad for masters’ degrees, and celebrating the arrival of their first babies, I was a ghost in my own life. I remained stuck in a college dorm room, unable to find the strength to even get out of bed, dragging into my fifth year of what should have been a simple four-year journey.

At the time, I was processing trauma that I didn’t yet have the language to describe. I tried the "strong firstborn daughter" strategy—the one we are taught so well: tuck it away, keep moving, and act as if nothing happened. But the body remembers what the mind tries to forget. I was failing miserably. Back then, I didn't have a TikTok algorithm to explain my nervous system to me, and there were no trusted adults to walk me through the fog. I was in unchartered territory, navigating the lonely, silent path that so many eldest daughters walk alone, convinced that my "stuckness" was a personal defect rather than a survival response.

The "Politician" and the Project

During that dark season, a friend decided to "rescue" me. She started waking me up at 5:00 AM every day so we could study together. To the outside world, she was a saint. In her own mind, she was a hero; she loved the feeling of assisting "the loser." It felt like a politician in the market during campaign season—performative kindness that relies entirely on a power imbalance. She was comfortable with me as long as I was the broken one.

And at the time? I was grateful. That "help" got me out of bed and offered a temporary escape from my chaotic mind. I noticed even then that she couldn't handle it if I corrected her or showed any sign of independent thought, but I stayed quiet. I played the role of the grateful project because I was just happy to be included. I didn't realize that some people only offer a hand so they can feel like the one standing on higher ground.

Until the end of the semester.

When the results came out, the hierarchy shattered. I hadn't just passed; I topped the class with a 98%, while the rest of the class sat in the 60s. The moment I was no longer the "project" to be pitied, the "support" evaporated. She never woke me up at 5:00 AM again. We never spoke about that grade. I realized then that my brilliance was a threat to her benevolence.

That 98% was the first flicker of light. It was the proof I needed that I wasn't stuck because I was stupid; I was stuck because I was carrying too much. My brain was always capable, but my spirit was under construction.

The Gift of the Non-Linear Path

Sometimes people still try to instill shame in me today. They imply that I am somehow "behind" because their path to success was linear, while mine looked like a battlefield. They suggest I should be resentful, that had I had the "right" emotional support system or a more traditional trajectory, I would be much further along by now.

But as I look at the life I’ve built, I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Some look at my life now, the peace, the high-society circles, the sovereignty, and they feel a flicker of envy. But if I asked them, "Would you be willing to walk in my shoes to get here? Would you accept being labeled the black sheep, the failed project, or the 'crazy' one for years?" the answer would be a resounding "No!" Most people want the harvest, but very few could survive the winter I went through.

If you've never dealt with a dysregulated nervous system caused by parentification and hyper-independence, you won't grasp the invisible burden it carries. If you've never had to navigate survival, healing, and success all by yourself, you won't understand the immense strength needed to conquer challenges designed to break you. My path wasn't "slower"; it was deeper.

From Transformation to Invitation

I didn’t just survive that dorm room; I became the architect of a life I once thought was impossible. I moved from a girl who needed a "politician" to wake her up, to a woman who is fully, beautifully, and sovereignly awake on her own. I realized that my "lost" years weren’t a detour; they were my lab. They were the investment that allowed me to develop the resilience I now use in motherhood, entrepreneurship, and coaching.

Now, I dedicate my life to helping other women find their way out of the fog. Whether you are in your 20s, 30s, 40s, or 50s, it is never too late to rebuild your identity from the studs up.

* For the Eldest Daughter: If you are tired of being the "strong one" while carrying a dysregulated nervous system in silence, my book, "Healing Firstborn Daughter," was written for you. It is the guide I wish I had in that dorm room, a roadmap to reclaiming your identity from the weight of trauma and expectation.

* For the Woman Rebuilding: If you are ready to stop being a "project" and start being the CEO of your own peace, my Coaching Program for Healing from Trauma is designed to walk you through the structural renovation of your spirit.

You don't have to figure this out on your own. You weren’t robbed of your time; you are just waiting for the right moment to begin your own 98% season.

Let’s start today.