I’m in My 20s, Broke, Confused & Ordering Oat Milk Lattes

There’s something oddly poetic—and painfully ironic—about being in your 20s. You’re expected to have your life figured out, your finances sorted, your relationship stable, and your career roadmap printed in 4K. But in reality? You’re broke, confused, emotionally scrambled, and somehow still ordering that overpriced oat milk latte like it’s a financial investment in your healing. Because behind the aesthetic flat-lay of that creamy caffeine fix lies a generation trying to find clarity in chaos, love in labels, purpose in passion, and peace in the middle of capitalism’s tight chokehold.
Remember when we were younger, watching 20-somethings in movies living glamorous, independent lives in apartments they could somehow afford with ambiguous creative jobs? Yeah. That was a lie. The reality is waking up with five alarms you snoozed, questioning if your degree is useless, panicking over a LinkedIn post that makes you feel ten steps behind, and wondering why your brain refuses to pick a single career lane. There’s no real manual to adulting—and if there is, it must be written in a language we never learned in school. Every day feels like a glitchy simulation. We switch between five career dreams in a week, pretend to enjoy networking events, and call our parents for reassurance only to be told to “just keep applying.” But the truth is, we’re not lazy or lost—we’re just deeply overwhelmed by the endless choices, the pressure to succeed young, and the haunting feeling of "not being enough." This isn’t aimlessness; it’s analysis paralysis in a hyper-competitive world.
Here’s the thing: we know how to manage money… theoretically. We follow finance reels. We read personal budgeting posts. We download fancy apps. But somehow, we’re still broke before the month even begins. Between rent, bills, subscriptions we forgot to cancel, skincare we can’t afford but emotionally need, and weekend plans we’re peer-pressured into, there’s barely anything left to save. Financial literacy is one thing—financial ability is another. How do you build savings with an unpaid internship? How do you “invest early” when your job barely pays enough for groceries? Being broke in your 20s is like walking a tightrope—with a cup of oat milk in one hand and a to-do list full of capitalist expectations in the other. But it’s not that we’re irresponsible; it’s that we’re tired of being constantly productive. Sometimes, ordering that latte feels like reclaiming a little joy in a system that’s designed to drain us dry.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Oh, you mean besides spiraling in bed with my third existential crisis of the week? Every 20-something is either navigating a quarter-life crisis or preparing for one. We’re caught in this blurry middle ground—between who we were and who we’re supposed to become. We question everything: Is this the right job? Is this the right person? Should I move cities? Should I start something of my own? Our thoughts spiral faster than we can finish our iced lattes. And while everyone else seems to be thriving—launching businesses, getting engaged, going on spiritual retreats—we’re refreshing job portals, redoing our CVs, and praying to not get ghosted (by employers and people both). No one really talks about how paralyzing it is to have too many options with zero certainty. It’s not a lack of ambition—it’s emotional whiplash from constantly changing dreams, shifting priorities, and battling with imposter syndrome on steroids.
Let’s not lie—ordering oat milk lattes is a ritual now. It’s part comfort, part rebellion, part aesthetic. It’s self-care on autopilot. It’s the treat we give ourselves when everything else is a mess. But really, it’s deeper than that. It’s the illusion of control in a world that feels unhinged. You can’t choose how your job interview went, but you can choose how creamy your latte is. You can’t make your situationship text you back, but you can choose a table by the window, play sad girl music in your ears, and sip serenity from a cup. We meme about being mentally unwell while romanticizing our lives in overpriced cafes—but maybe, just maybe, that’s our way of surviving. The latte isn’t just a drink. It’s a moment. It’s a pause. It’s a tiny slice of pleasure in a world demanding perfection.
We’re the generation that openly talks about trauma, but also uses therapy language to avoid accountability. We’ve normalized terms like “anxious attachment,” “emotional unavailability,” and “boundaries” so much that they’ve become filters we use in everyday life. But just because we speak the language of healing doesn’t mean we’ve done the work. Our healing journey is messy—we journal our feelings, take long walks in silence, pull tarot cards for guidance, and download meditation apps we never open. We are simultaneously trying to break generational trauma and also watching reality TV to numb our brains. And it’s okay. Healing isn’t linear. We can be a hot mess and still be growing. We can be chaotic and still be conscious. The important thing is that we’re trying. Even if it’s slow. Even if it looks weird. Even if we fall back into old patterns. That effort matters more than perfection.
Love in your 20s is a different kind of madness. One second you’re “just talking,” the next you’re trauma bonding over family issues, and then suddenly, you're ghosted because they “aren’t ready.” We’re all craving connection, but terrified of commitment. We want deep intimacy but fear vulnerability. We want old-school romance but with the convenience of dating apps. Everyone is either healing, in therapy, emotionally unavailable, or already taken. The dating scene is a minefield of situationships, breadcrumbing, gaslighting, and people who believe “labels kill the vibe.” It’s exhausting. And yet, we still try. Because we want to believe love is real—even in this algorithm-driven age. We want someone who texts back, who understands us, who won’t think our overthinking is too much. Until then, we settle for romantic playlists, heart-to-hearts with our best friends, and yes, oat milk lattes for company.
There's this unspoken urgency hanging over our heads—like we have to be something by 30. A homeowner. A founder. A wife. A globe-trotter. A six-figure earner. And if we’re not, we’ve somehow failed. But who set this deadline? Who decided that your 20s are the only time to experiment, dream, fail, start again? The truth is, the only clock we should be listening to is our own. Whether you find your calling at 23 or 33—it’s still valid. Whether you settle down or travel the world, it’s still your story. We’re allowed to bloom late, to stumble, to start over. Life isn’t a race—it’s a rhythm. And yours might be different. That doesn’t make it wrong. It makes it real.
So here we are—broke, confused, caffeinated, emotional, hopeful. We cry in the shower, laugh in group chats, and spend too much time overthinking our life choices in therapy or on TikTok. But we’re also growing, trying, surviving. Every oat milk latte we order is a reminder that we’re still here. Still showing up. Still finding joy where we can. Life in your 20s isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence. It’s about making peace with the mess. It’s about choosing yourself even when the world doesn’t clap for you. And if a creamy cup of oat milk helps you get through that, then drink it proudly.

You’re not behind. You’re becoming. And that’s more than enough.

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