I grew up with an image of how my life was supposed to pan out.
Career in full steam by 25.
Engaged at 27.
Married at 29.
First child before 30.
I had an image of who the father of my children would be. Where we’d live. What kind of life we’d lead.
I wasn’t regimented about it. But it was a loose idea of how I envisioned my future.
Slowly, but surely, everything was on track, albeit a few years ahead of schedule. Tick, tick, tick! How wonderful was life? Fairytale engagement, beautiful baby. I truly had it all! At least, I thought I did. And it certainly looked like I did to everyone else. Until, I didn’t.
One of the hardest parts of the last five months since my fiancee broke my heart, has been deciphering between the illusion of the fantasy I’d constructed in my head versus the reality of the situation.
My psychologist calls this the “white picket fence” mentality.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nostalgically recounted stories of what life was once like, only to be corrected by a well-meaning friend or family member.
The story I was telling was true, it was glossed over. Details were conveniently left out to fit a narrative of how I thought life was chugging along.
It’s equally as difficult to reconcile with the fact the future you had mapped out no longer exists.