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My beautiful sister.
Yes you.
I used to think by now I would have arrived somewhere. Somewhere that looked and felt different than this. Somewhere where the pieces fit a little more tightly, where the road felt straighter, and where the answers came a bit more quickly.
I imagined I’d be standing on a mountain of clarity, waving to the version of me that doubted it would ever work out.
I thought I’d be further.
I thought things would be more certain.
I thought I’d feel more secure.
I’m standing here on the edge of almost being 30 thinking how did things get here? Don’t get me wrong I’m immensely blessed. God has blessed me with a beautiful family, a business I’m rebuilding, new friends in the making.
It’s not that things are wrong, but they’re just different.
It’s quieter than I imagined (coming from someone who has lived in chaos)
It’s shaped by delays and pivots I didn’t plan for.
What I didn’t realize back then when I was clinging tightly to the vision I had is that sometimes what we mourn isn’t just the loss of a dream.
It’s the loss of the identity that was wrapped up in that dream. The version of ourselves that felt capable, impressive, predictable.
The one who could explain her five-year plan with poise and confidence.
The one who looked certain, even when she was terrified.
When life doesn’t look like what we thought it would, the grief is subtle but persistent. It doesn’t announce itself like a loud heartbreak. It lingers quietly like a shadow. It follows us into grocery stores and Sunday mornings, into text threads with friends who seem to be “thriving.” Into those moments where we sit on the edge of our beds and wonder, “Did I take a wrong turn somewhere?” Maybe we did or maybe we didn’t.
Maybe this is just the long way around or maybe this is the way through.
What no one tells you is that releasing the life you thought you’d have doesn’t mean giving up.
It doesn’t mean settling.
It doesn’t mean becoming indifferent to your dreams.
It means trusting that the life God is building with you even when it looks wildly different from what you pictured.
This is still good. This is still holy. This is still purposeful.
This is forming you in ways you can’t yet understand.
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