I Didn’t Know What I Didn’t Know – And That’s Okay

When I was younger, I thought adulthood was a finite destination. A glamorous point on the map where I’d have a fully stocked, organized spice rack, a working knowledge of how to prevent breakouts, and the ability to make small talk at parties without sweating through my shirt.

I’d know how to be married. How to parent. How to make chicken that wasn’t dry. I’d say wise things like, “It’s just a phase,” and “Invest in yourself,” and actually mean them.

Turns out, adulting is less of a destination and more of a road trip with bad directions, a questionable playlist, and at least three bathroom stops you didn’t plan on.

It’s one of the reasons my friend and I started our podcast, We Didn’t Know What We Didn’t Know – Life Laughed. Each episode is basically a friendly therapist’s couch – with more laughter and very few pearls of advice. We unpack everything from raising children to surviving menopause to taking care of aging family members, with your sense of humor (mostly) intact.

Marriage: The Great Negotiation

When I got married, I assumed we’d be a finely tuned machine. I would intuitively know how to plan inexpensive trips, assemble IKEA furniture, and understand why someone would voluntarily watch football on television.

He, meanwhile, thought I’d always want to go camping instead of… anything else.

We were young and optimistic, which is a nice way of saying we were clueless and too broke to hire movers. Over time, we learned that love isn’t about finishing each other’s sentences. It’s about learning when to leave the room before finishing the sentence.

We didn’t know that the strongest marriages aren’t built on perfect communication – they’re built on patience, forgiveness, and the quiet understanding that cleaning the house unprompted is one of the sexiest moves a spouse can make.

Teaching: Lessons I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know

I taught for many years before I had children of my own. In those early days, I thought I had it all figured out. Classroom management? Check. Creative bulletin boards? Double check. A schedule that allowed me to drink my coffee while it was still hot? (Okay, that one never happened.)

But I also worked for a principal who was in her late 50s and had never had children herself. We were both committed, passionate educators, but in hindsight, I can say it: we were missing something.

Parent-teacher conferences often felt like trying to speak a foreign language. I could talk about grades, behavior, and potential – but my empathy wasn’t quite “there.” I didn’t fully grasp what it meant to send your heart walking around outside your body every day and then hand that heart over to a classroom teacher.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I cared deeply. I just didn’t know what I didn’t know. Years later, after having my own children, I saw those same conferences differently. I understood the parent who teared up over a behavior issue. I understood the one who was worried their child had no friends.

We actually unpacked this on an episode of Life Laughed – how life experience changes your lens, and how many times we look back on our younger selves and think, “Wow, I really didn’t get it back then.” Teaching taught me that humility is as important as any curriculum.

Parenting: Master of None, Sleeper of Less

Nothing revealed how little I knew quite like becoming a mother. I read the books, sure, but none of them had chapters titled “What to Do When Your Toddler Only Answers in Dinosaur Roars” or “How to Pretend You Love T-Ball for the Third Season in a Row.”

I thought I’d be the mom who made healthy lunches and volunteered in the classroom. Some days, I was. Other days, I considered it a win that everyone was wearing pants and our shoes matched.

We didn’t know that parenting wasn’t about perfection – it was about showing up, over and over, even when you were exhausted, unsure, or slightly sticky from some unidentified child-related substance.

(We did a podcast episode on this topic too, and I still don’t know how we survived middle school math or teenage angst.)

Work: Grading Papers and Faking Confidence

As a teacher, now with my own two boys, I assumed that one day I’d feel like a “real adult”– one who never had to Google how to unjam the copier or figure out if swallowing a small bit of crayon was actually a medical emergency.

When I started out, I looked at veteran teachers with admiration and envy. They were calm, confident, and carried tote bags with laminated passes. Meanwhile, I was eating string cheese in my car and wondering if anyone would notice that I had worn the same pants three days in a row.

Eventually, I realized the truth: everyone was faking it a little. Confidence, like those well-thought-out seating charts, is fluid.

Aging: The Art of Laughing While Forgetting Why You Walked into the Room

Now, in this season of life, I still don’t know a lot of things.

I don’t know how to keep busy without overdoing it. I don’t know where I set my glasses. I don’t know why I keep saving all of the boxes. All. The. Boxes.

But I do know this: Not knowing everything is no longer terrifying. It’s liberating.

The people I admire most aren’t the ones with flawless skin and 10-year plans. They’re the ones who can laugh at themselves, hold space for the unknown, and admit when they need help opening a jar. (Stupid arthritis.)

We didn’t know what we didn’t know. And that’s okay. Because somewhere between the mess and the magic, we figured out what really matters: love, laughter, and the grace to keep learning and admit our mistakes.

If this all sounds a little too familiar, come join me on the podcast Life Laughed. We’re still figuring things out – and laughing our way through it – one honest conversation at a time.

Let’s Talk About It:

What’s something you didn’t realize you didn’t know until life taught you the hard (or funny) way? Was there a moment when your perspective completely changed after becoming a parent, caregiver, or simply getting older? Do you find not having everything figured out more stressful, or more freeing, at this stage of life? Why?