4 indicators of psychological maturity
We’ve all seen what immaturity looks like. Just turn on the evening news, and there it is: politicians slinging insults instead of ideas, leaders driven by greed instead of empathy, and everyday people losing it, throwing tantrums at workers who are just trying to do their jobs. It’s those impulsive decisions, the me-first mentality, the relentless need to control, the ambition that consumes everything in its path. It’s the struggle to handle criticism, the stubborn refusal to listen that comes off as arrogance.
But what does it actually mean to be mature? And more importantly, who among us can honestly say we’ve got it all figured out?
I don’t think we can ever be done growing up. There is no finish line when it comes to maturity. Maturity comes with facing your own flaws, the dark corners of your mind you’d rather ignore. With healing those deep wounds, learning to live with uncertainty, and daring to be vulnerable, even when it makes you feel exposed and uncomfortable.
This is a huge topic, and maturity has so many layers. But here’s what I want to do: share with you four signs of psychological maturity that I’ve found extremely useful in my own life, drawing on the wisdom of great thinkers.
1. Accepting loss gracefully
Loss is a word that carries so much weight, yet it’s something most of us weren’t taught how to handle. We stumble through it, learning the hard way—just like I did.
As we get older, we start to see that loss isn’t just about death. It’s about the people who drift away, the expectations that once motivated us, and the places, things, and people that once made us feel safe. These losses shape us, and to grow, we must accept them.
Tune into psychologist and author Judith Viorst’s beautiful words:
Somewhat wrinkled, highly vulnerable and non-negotiably mortal, I have been examining these losses. These lifelong losses. These necessary losses. These losses we confront when we are confronted by the inescapable fact … that our mother is going to leave us, and we will leave her; that our mother’s love can never be ours alone; that what hurts us cannot always be kissed and made better; that we are essentially out here on our own; that we will have to accept—in other people and ourselves—the mingling of love with hate, of the good with the bad; that no matter how wise and beautiful and charming a girl may be, she still cannot grow up to marry her dad; that our options are constricted by anatomy and guilt; that there are flaws in every human connection; that our status on this planet is implacably impermanent; and that we are utterly powerless to offer ourselves or those we love protection—protection from danger and pain, from the in-roads of time, from the coming of age, from the coming of death; protection from our necessary losses. These losses are a part of life—universal, unavoidable, inexorable. And these losses are necessary because we grow by losing and leaving and letting go. (—Necessary Losses)
The idea that life can be perfect? Gone. The notion of invincibility? Shattered. Accepting that loss is inevitable is when we begin to truly understand ourselves and the world around us. As Viorst says, these losses—of innocence, loved ones, or dreams—aren’t just part of life; they’re essential. They teach us how to love, how to connect, and how to let go when needed.
This is how we grow up. By facing loss. By letting it change us. And by finding the strength to keep going, even when it hurts.
2. Seeing the child in others
We’ve all been there—getting frustrated with our partner when they let us down. It’s easy to jump to conclusions, to assume the worst when they disappoint us. But real maturity asks us to go beyond those initial reactions. It challenges us to approach our partner’s imperfections with empathy and patience.
Alain de Botton, a philosopher who understands the messiness of human relationships, explains this concept through the partner-as-child theory:
If the partner is late for our mother’s birthday because of ‘work’, we may assume it’s an excuse. If they promised to buy us some extra toothpaste but then ‘forgot’, we’ll imagine a deliberate slight. They probably relish the thought of causing us a little distress. But if we employed the infant model of interpretation, our first assumption would be quite different: maybe they didn’t sleep well last night and are too exhausted to think straight; maybe they’ve got a sore knee; maybe they are doing the equivalent of testing the boundaries of parental tolerance. Seen from such a point of view, the lover’s adult behaviour doesn’t magically become nice or acceptable. But the level of agitation is kept safely low. It’s very touching that we live in a world where we have learned to be so kind to children; it would be even nicer if we learned to be a little more generous towards the childlike parts of one another. (—The School of Life: An Emotional Education)
No matter how much we grow up, parts of us are still tied to the fears, insecurities, and desires we had as children. These things don’t just disappear. They shape who we are, even as adults.
Alain de Botton encourages us to extend the same compassion, kindness, and understanding we instinctively offer to children, to our adult partners as well. When we do this, we begin to love in a way that isn’t about perfection, but about deeply understanding the humanity we all share.
3. Practicing humility
One clear marker of maturity is the absence of the need to constantly prove oneself. Mature individuals don’t feel compelled to show they’re better or superior. They’re not wrapped up in egotism or self-promotion.
Cultural commentator and author David Brooks sums it perfectly:
Humility is the awareness that there’s a lot you don’t know and that a lot of what you think you know is distorted or wrong. This is the way humility leads to wisdom. […] wisdom isn’t a body of information. It’s the moral quality of knowing what you don’t know and figuring out a way to handle your ignorance, uncertainty, and limitation. The people we think are wise have, to some degree, overcome the biases and overconfident tendencies that are infused in our nature. In its most complete meaning, intellectual humility is accurate self-awareness from a distance. It is moving over the course of one’s life from the adolescent’s close-up view of yourself, in which you fill the whole canvas, to a landscape view in which you see, from a wider perspective, your strengths and weaknesses, your connections and dependencies, and the role you play in a larger story. (—The Road to Character)
Humility is essential for psychological maturity because it makes us question what we think we know. It opens us up to new perspectives. It keeps us learning. As Brooks notes, when we drop our biases and overconfidence, we see ourselves more clearly—not as the centre of the universe, but as part of something much bigger.
For me, embracing humility has been transformative. It’s helped me become more open, more willing to listen, more aware of where I fit in the world. There was a time when I thought I had all the answers. I didn’t. Humility showed me that. It made me realise that real growth comes when you see the bigger picture, not just your own reflection.
4. Owning responsibility
It’s easy to point fingers, to blame others when things go wrong, or to convince ourselves that our problems are someone else’s fault. I’ve been there. But the truth is, real growth only happens when we stop avoiding responsibility and start owning our actions.
Psychoanalyst Karen Horney explains it so well:
[…] man, by his very nature and of his own accord, strives toward self-realization, and that his set of values evolves from such striving. Apparently he cannot, for example, develop his full human potentialities unless he is truthful to himself; unless he is active and productive; unless he relates himself to others in the spirit of mutuality. Apparently he cannot grow if he indulges in a "dark idolatry of self" and consistently attributes all his own shortcomings to the deficiencies of others. He can grow, in the true sense, only if he assumes responsibility for himself. (—Neurosis and Human Growth)
Horney is saying that if we want to truly grow, we have to be real with ourselves. We need to stop blaming others for our problems and start looking at where we can make changes in our own lives. Growth comes from this honesty—from being willing to see our flaws, owning up to them, and working to improve.
But taking responsibility isn’t about harsh self-criticism. It’s not about ignoring how experiences impact you either. It’s about acknowledging that you have the power to shape your life, despite its challenges. It’s about understanding that the ability to grow and change is in your hands. This realisation is what leads to true maturity. And that’s when you start to really grow up.