It usually comes from someone staring 30 in the eye or perhaps in their late 20s. On paper life may look good. They have a job, friends, perhaps a long-term partner. They have been through school, often university, started work, navigated a pandemic and done all the things they thought they were supposed to do on the seamless trajectory towards happy ever after. And yet they sit opposite me and say some version of:

‘I feel stuck in every area of my life’

‘I feel lonely even though I’m in a relationship’

‘How do I know something better than this isn’t out there for me?’

They don't know what is wrong. In fact that is usually the problem. Nothing is wrong enough to justify the level of anxiety and uncertainty they are feeling. They don't hate their job but they can't imagine doing it for another ten years.

They love their partner - but are increasingly unsure whether this is the person they want to build a life with. They have friends - but some of those friendships are exhausting and draining and no longer feel as natural as they once did. And underneath all of this sits an uncomfortable question: ‘Am I settling?’

Welcome to the quarter-life crisis.

When did life get so serious?

Our twenties are often described as a decade of freedom and possibility. But by the late twenties something can subtly begin to shift. The choices that once felt temporary and spontaneous start to feel increasingly permanent. A job is no longer simply the job you took after university. It may be becoming your career.

The person you started dating at 21 is now the person everyone assumes you will marry. And incrementally your friends are peeling off in this direction – starting to co-habit, to get engaged, to get married.

Friendship groups begin to change. Some of them are buying homes, others are travelling, changing careers or starting again somewhere new. Everyone else seems to have it all figured out. They seem certain of their choices and these enormous decisions they are taking. And in the background to make it all worse and to pile on the pressure there seems to be the very quiet ticking of an invisible clock. Wait a moment when did life get this grown-up and scary?

Social media – surprise – is not helping. It provides a 24/7 stream of other people's glorious technicolour achievements – promotions, engagement rings ecstatically displayed at the summit of mountains, house purchases or pioneering travel experiences. Everyone else seems to be sprinting down the road to Somewhere while you are still trying to work out whether you even want that destination.

What if I make the wrong decision?

This is often where therapy becomes interesting. Many of the people I see aren't struggling because they have no options. They are struggling because they have too many. Previous generations often faced much more rigid expectations (and limitations) around work, marriage and family. Greater freedom is undoubtedly a good thing but freedom also brings responsibility and a surfeit of choices.

‘If I could change career, should I?’

‘If I could move abroad, why haven't I?’

‘If I could leave this relationship does staying mean I'm too scared to be on my own or does it mean I'm committed?’

There is a tremendous pressure to optimise our lives. Not simply to have a good relationship, but the right relationship. Not simply a job that pays the bills but work that is meaningful, stimulating, flexible and fulfilling. Against this backdrop ‘good enough’ can begin to feel suspiciously like settling.

The relationship question

Perhaps nowhere does the quarter-life crisis feel more frightening than in relationships. I meet clients who have been with their partner for three, five or eight years. They may love them deeply. There may be no betrayal, no terrible conflict and no obvious reason to leave. They know each other inside out, are each other’s best friends and can list endless reasons to stay. But something doesn't feel quite right. Then comes the terror.

‘What if I leave and realise I've made a terrible mistake?’

‘What if I never meet anyone else?’

‘What if everyone else gets married and I'm starting again at 32?’

And perhaps most poignantly: ‘What if this is simply what long-term love feels like and I'm expecting too much?’

These are not questions with neat therapeutic answers. My role is certainly not to tell somebody whether to leave their relationship. It is to help them understand what is keeping them in it - and what is making them want to go.

There is an important difference between choosing someone and being too frightened to leave them. Sometimes staying is a courageous commitment to a relationship that has depth and value. Sometimes staying is fear dressed up as certainty. Therapy can provide somewhere to begin telling the difference.

When friendships change too

Friendships can become another unexpected source of uncertainty. The friendship group that felt inseparable at 21 may look very different by 29. People move away. Lifestyles diverge. Some friends become consumed by careers or relationships. Others start a family which can frequently create an emotional gap. And sometimes we simply outgrow one another.

There can be real grief in this. We don't talk enough about friendship endings because they don't have the rituals that romantic break-ups do. But recognising that someone who once knew everything about you no longer really knows your life can be painful. It can also raise another uncomfortable question:

If I don't belong with these people any more where do I belong?

Perhaps feeling lost isn't always a problem

One of the things I try to resist in therapy is rushing to make uncertainty disappear. We are very uncomfortable with not knowing. We want the answer. Stay or leave. Retrain or stay put. Move or remain. Settle down or keep exploring. But perhaps there are periods in life when uncertainty is doing something useful. Feeling restless may be uncomfortable, but it can also be information.

Perhaps the life you constructed at 22 simply doesn't fit the person you have become at 30. That doesn't mean you made the wrong choices. It means you have evolved.

From ‘what should I do?’ to ‘what matters to me?’

The most helpful question is often not What should I do with my life? That question is enormous. Instead, we might begin somewhere gentler.

‘What matters to me now?’

‘Where do I feel most like myself?’

‘What am I tolerating because change frightens me?’

‘What am I tempted to throw away simply because something newer looks more exciting?’

‘If I wasn't worried about disappointing anybody what would I want?’

And perhaps the hardest one: ‘If I knew I would be okay whatever happened, what would I choose?’

The quarter-life crisis may be a relatively new label but the experience beneath it is deeply human. It is the moment when we begin to realise that adulthood isn't a destination we eventually arrive at with everything figured out. We continue choosing. We continue changing. Occasionally we make mistakes.

Life has a way of figuring itself out. And sometimes feeling stuck isn't evidence that your life has gone wrong. It is simply the point at which you stop living according to the choices you made years ago and start asking whether they still belong to you. This may be scary but it can also be the beginning of something.