Courtesy of Carole-Ann Penney.
- Initially, I thought my wedding ring provided a sense of adulthood and credibility in my career.But I never truly felt like a adult, even after starting my own business and having children.Now, I'm embracing my own path, symbolized by a new ring on my right hand.
I was 27 when I got married, but I could have easily passed for 18.
I've always looked younger than I am, which frustrated me, especially as a young professional. I was a star-student, perfectionist, overachiever trying to get a foothold in my career, and I wanted to be respected and valued. But I felt like the fact that I looked like a kid held me back.
At a professional conference, a male colleague asked me if I was old enough to drink alcohol. Whether he was earnest or joking (I'm still not sure) doesn't matter — his point was clear: you're not big enough to be a real player here.
When my husband slipped on my wedding ring, I was flooded with excitement and hope for our shared future, yes, but it also sparked a surprising transformation that was just about me. With the ring on my finger, I finally looked like an adult.
I wore it proudly in the world, gesturing at networking events. It dated me in a positive way. It gave me credibility. I delighted in the heft of it, until I didn't.
I was doing all of the adult things, but I still didn't feel like one
Twelve years later, we had built a whole life: bought a house, made a home, had two children, navigated the grief of my mom's death, weathered the COVID pandemic, built our careers, and established my business as a professional coach and career strategist. It all involved a lot of adulting, but I still didn't feel like an adult.
Sometimes, I'd be driving our daughters to school and catch a look at myself in the rearview mirror. "How did this happen?" I'd think. "How can I be the adult here when I still feel like a kid?"
And then my husband and I realized that after all these years together, we were headed on different paths. We decided to divorce.
Courtesy of Carole-Ann Penney.
Removing my ring wasn't momentous at first
I took my wedding ring off on a regular weekday. It wasn't a milestone in the divorce process, not the day we made the choice, the day he moved out, or the day the courts made it official. It was a Tuesday.
Over the coming weeks, I watched as the indent on my left ring finger faded. I slowly adjusted to the lightness of my finger.
I went to a professional conference and noticed the rings worn by other women in the room — how they sparkled as they gestured, emphasizing their points in their small group discussions.
I looked at my own hands and didn't miss my ring at all.
Now I'm blossoming into the adult I was meant to be
Putting on my wedding ring may have made me look like an adult, but it was taking it off that made me feel like one.
Looking back, choosing to get married wasn't really an adult decision — it was me following the ladder of life, the path of expectations laid out for me by society, my parents, and myself. It was the next natural step towards what seemed like success in my late 20s.
Deciding to end my marriage was an intentional step off of that ladder. It was a sign of me forging my own path and being true to myself, even when that went against others' expectations.
At 27, I needed a ring as a prop to give me a sense of credibility. At 39, I derive that credibility from my track record of work, from the strands of grey in my hair, from the values I've defined as core to who I am, from the fact that I own my own business and can say, "I've been doing this for over a decade," from the internal satisfaction I get from showing up as the mom that I am.
I bought myself a simple gold ring that I now wear on my right hand. I picked it out for myself, for the woman I am becoming. It's engraved with a blooming camellia flower. To me, it's a sign that I'm finally coming into my own as a late bloomer. I'm finally an adult.
