Is my third adolescence making me younger—or letting me live my truest self?

Yahoo

09-04-2025

More and more each day, I'm feeling a bit younger.
It could be the return of sunshine and warmer weather to Upstate New York. Or getting back into the groove of attending the fitness room in my building. And, as I approach 40, I'm amused when folks assume I'm in my late 20s or early 30s. There's a kick in my steps, perhaps from the daily intake of spironolactone or the weekly hormone shot.
Still, there are moments I do feel quite like my age.
There are days I wake up with back and neck pain despite pillows sprawled all over the bed. My midday lunches have turned into midday naps. And I am less excited about going out, cozying up on the couch to enjoy a movie or series after a long work week.
I wrapped up the last season of Younger the previous weekend, having almost religiously watched all seven seasons. I've realized Darren Star's impact on many of the shows I've enjoyed, from Sex and the City to Cashmere Mafia and Emily in Paris. (Yes, Emily Cooper's antics are comforting to watch. No, I will not answer any more questions on the matter!) Once again, the genius of Darren Star taps into a charmingly escapist series.For those who haven't seen the show, now streaming on Netflix, Younger stars Liza Miller as a woman in her 40s, a recent divorcee whose desire to return to the publishing world falls short due to her age. To solve this, she masquerades as a vibrant 26-year-old to reboot her career and love life. However, the ending wasn't necessarily on a "happily ever after" tone–well, not overtly anyway–it's a reminder that some happy endings are just another beginning. Sure, the scenario might be extreme, but the heart of her story of reinvention, rediscovery, and reclaiming joy feels deeply familiar to the trans experience.
The trans experience often means our timelines don't match the neat, linear progression society expects. Speaking for myself (because the overall experience isn't a monolith), fear disrupted my adolescence. Adulthood has finally marked a blossoming authenticity rather than conventional milestones. And in this newfound bloom, it can sometimes feel like being a teenager all over again.
Though, this time, with less acne and more money.
In an article for Psychology Today, Adam James Cohen defines this as Second Adolescence. It's a life stage for LGBTQ+ adults navigating adulthood "after growing up in an anti-queer world." Second Adolescence involves addressing experiences our younger "closeted" selves may have missed. This experience can range from first dates and kisses to dressing and expressing our most authentic selves. This stage, according to Cohen, is about addressing our exposure to anti-queerness (and possibly other anti-isms that go against white heteronormativity, from anti-Blackness to anti-fatness), examining how these constructs may still have a grapple on us, and how we work to unlearn these previously held beliefs.
Second Adolescence isn't just a playful catchphrase but a powerful act of self-love. It's an overdue opportunity to explore the textures of joy and the contours of desire without the looking shadow of shame or expectation. It's about taking in the first sweet thrill of truly seeing yourself in the mirror, discovering how your heart truly beats next to someone in a public space, and the joy of making new friends in queer spaces that affirm your existence.
I'll never forget the first night I stepped into a gay club in my mid-20s. The lights were pulsing, and the music was loud enough to drown out my internal thoughts. The shyness eventually gave way to the smiles, and a friend pulled me to dance (I'm almost sure it was the extended version of Beyoncé's "Get Me Bodied"). By night's end, all the previously held beliefs were left on the dancefloor. It was electric! For the first time in years, perhaps ever, I felt young. Not in terms of age but in the buoyant, reckless, heart-racing way youth is supposed to feel. That night was magic.
Several years later, at 31, I would experience this feeling once again–this time, in my third adolescence as a trans woman. But I've learned something essential over the years: Youth isn't tied to a number but weighted in personal growth.
Next week will be nine years since I started my transition. At the start, I spent countless days wishing to fast-forward through the awkward phases. I spent many nights wishing I could skip directly to a future where I could confidently and safely be myself. But when that moment finally arrived–and only occurred within the past few months–I realized how crucial and missed those earlier stages were. Making up for lost time in my second and third adolescence by living my high school dreams decades after graduating. Hanging out 'til late at night with my girlfriends, reliving the escapades from the night before over takeout (or coffee) and the first flushes of teenage romance years later than expected.
Despite it all, it's still been fabulous.
Consider the lessons from Younger: Liza Miller's playful deception allows her to rediscover passions, reshape her career, and reconnect with her most genuine self. Her age may be a facade, but her joy and growth are real. And isn't that precisely what queer folks do when we step into our truths, even if society judges us for coloring outside the lines?
Some critics outside (and occasionally within) our community may accuse us of refusing to "grow up," but they miss the beauty of our narrative. We're not rejecting adulthood but reshaping it. We're crafting a version of maturity that doesn't demand we abandon wonder or whimsy. After all, what's the point of surviving if we can't thrive on our terms?
There's an inherent privilege baked into "traditional timelines" whereby society lays out expected milestones like they're as simple as ticking off a grocery list. Go to school, fall in love, get married, buy a house, raise a family, and somewhere between all that, magically find happiness. But for us, especially trans folks, those benchmarks don't align neatly with our experiences or desires. Our milestones might look more like the first pride parade attended openly or the first time someone respected our pronouns. The first time we felt comfortable being in a bar (be it queer or straight), or that euphoric first kiss with someone who sees us for who we truly are.
After watching Younger unfold and witnessing Liza's awkward yet liberating adventures, I realized the power of her story isn't in how she pretends to be younger. It's how she courageously allows herself to rediscover joy. She gives herself permission to be messy, make mistakes, and fall madly, wonderfully, in love with her life again.
And shouldn't we all have that?
Relishing in our Second (or Third) Adolescence is about feeling empowered to keep dreaming, dancing, and rediscovering who we are. There will always be critics of our decision to refuse "growing up." But refusing to settle into someone else's idea of maturity isn't a refusal. It's freedom.
It's embracing joy and loving ourselves fiercely and fully. Life is too short for conformity and far too precious to waste pretending. So, love, stay curious, and continue discovering yourself.
Whatever age you may be.
xx,Your Lovable Trans AuntieYour Lovable Trans Auntie is our go-to advice column for life's biggest (and messiest) questions—love, work, identity, and everything in between. With a signature blend of warmth, wit, and just the right amount of sass, Auntie offers readers a uniquely trans perspective that's as affirming as it is entertaining. Whether dishing out heartfelt wisdom, practical advice, or a little tough love, Auntie is here to remind everyone that they're never alone on this journey.Got a crush but don't know how to tell them you're trans? Wondering how to deal with that coworker who still 'forgets' your pronouns? Trying to navigate family drama, dating dilemmas, or just figuring out who you are? Auntie's got you. Submit your questions to [e-mail].