My Normal

Photo by imani-clovis | unsplash

For the past decade, my friends have experienced their partners getting down on one knee and asking four words that would change their lives. And while this has yet to be a chapter of my story, a few years ago on a quiet Tuesday night, four different words changed mine.

It was a routine shift at a local Children's Hospital where I volunteer with children prepping for, or recovering from, surgery. For two hours each week, I spend my night rocking and soothing children, using our imaginations, trying to make them laugh, and loving on them for that brief moment of time.

On this particular night, I arrived at a patient's door who asked if I could wheel her to the upstairs lounge for the nightly activity. Happy to accommodate, I pushed her wheelchair down the hall and into the elevator. A short ride later, we arrived at a semi-circle of chairs around a young twenty-something-year-old speaking to the group.

She took long, labored breaths as she spoke, clear tubes connecting her nose to a nearby oxygen tank. I was perched next to my patient, listening along in a mix of intrigue and curiosity when this girl, 15 years younger than me, said something that caught my attention. It took a hold of me, and despite being years ago, I still remember clearly the part of her story when she uttered four words I've never shaken.

"This is my normal."

She talked about her fight in life to breathe, to do things we take for granted daily. To laugh with her friends. To keep up. To walk. I don't remember what she was battling, but I remember thinking how hard she had to fight for a sliver of normalcy so many take for granted each day.

While we want to lose a few pounds, or to swipe right on someone who sparks something… while we are looking for a lipstick that lasts or asking "why me?" when we get stuck in traffic or spill coffee on our shirt at work, this girl barely beyond her teenage years spoke with a calm, convicted maturity that her life looked different than most - and she embraced that. Oxygen tanks and daily struggles for her next breath - for her health - that was her normal.

It has been a decade long journey to shift my way of thinking, and own my normal. To truly inhale deeply and feel okay. Sometimes I still question. Sometimes I am hard on myself. I think - I should be trying to date. I should know where I want to put down roots. I should stop wasting money on rent and buy. I shouldn’t feel so lost. I should be doing all the normal things my peers my age are.

There's this constant pressure reminding me that my life hasn't followed course like most others, and the voices and images on social media surround me from family, friends, acquaintances, and sometimes complete strangers.

Why aren’t you married?

You should really freeze your eggs.

When are you going to settle down and get married?

You don’t give people enough of a chance.

You’re too picky.

No one is ever going to be able to keep up with you.

You’re a handful.

Maybe you can just adopt?

You are hot, so you must be too crazy, right?

Life doesn't start until you have kids.

You two have been friends so long, why don't you just get together already?

I should this.

I shouldn't that.

My mind is quicksand, each word sinking in deep. They rest below the surface out of line of sight, but they have become a part of me, altering the lens in which I see life and accept right and wrong. As the years have passed their voices and questions have gotten quieter, but the comments and unsolicited advice remain etched in my memory as I struggle to shake the doubts I hear in the back of my mind daily. As I try to let go of the beliefs of others thrust upon me and delivered as absolute truths. Those messages can be so convincing that even as grown adult it's constant battle to own my normal and not question who I am and what I should be.

As a mid-30 year old with no boyfriend, no husband, no children … I remember vividly sitting in that metal chair that night, listening to this girl and thinking to myself, "Maybe there isn't anything wrong with me. Maybe I just need to own my normal."

So this is mine.

I don't own a house, even though I'm closer to 40 than 30.

I don't have a boyfriend, or a life partner. I don't have a love that got away. If there's a match for me, I simply haven't found him.

I've never fully lived with a romantic partner. I've never not had my own place, and completely combined my possessions with theirs. It's never fully felt right despite watching others half my age take these steps.

I live in what I affectionately call the "Dorms with 401Ks" - an apartment building where strangers have become my community, sharing much more than clichéd cups of sugar, but our lives - our dinners, our fears, our living rooms for yoga, our breakups … and even some of our happily-ever-afters.

A fair amount of my free time is spent with a married couple two apartments down who are mindful to include me on morning runs and dinners and events around the city. I am grateful for the wide space they've allowed me to fill in their lives and how they so beautifully include me without ever making me feel like I don't belong without a significant other to round out our trio.

I froze my eggs at 35 in the hopes of having my own children someday, and seeing my features blended with those of the person I promised to love forever. It was a traumatic, isolating experience that took time and therapy to process, but now I routinely joke about my 15 future ice skaters I pay monthly room and board for.

One of my best friends is a guy who's been single nearly as long as I have. He understands and supports me and has made space for me when my friends raising kids and growing in their marriages no longer could. I'm cognitive of the mutual respect and adoration that has never been romantic but always fulfilling.

Months come and go between dates, I'm off all dating apps. I haven't called anyone my boyfriend in nearly two years.

 I cannot get back the time I wasted allowing others questions and opinions to break me down. I know so often they are asked genuinely with positive intent, unaware of the pain they cause. Oblivious to the tears and the self-doubt and the questioning of why my life didn't look like everyone else's.

It took me years to stop looking at the life I wasn't leading, and love the life I am. There's truly beautiful parts to my seemingly unconventional story.

When my dreams I had a child didn't come true, when I didn't settle down or start family, I didn't dream smaller.

I dreamed bigger.

I achieved my biggest, wildest dream of standing on every continent in 7 years. When I met that goal, I dared to dream even bigger and started saying out loud I wanted to start a community to inspire other women living alternative lives to feel comfortable exactly where they stood.

To own their normal.

To that brave 20-year-old girl, who inspired me to think differently about where I stand in life - thank you. Thank you for inspiring me to be bold enough to say there is nothing wrong with me. Thank you for the strength of your words that changed how I looked around at my peers finding love and starting families. To not feel behind or vulnerable, but to instead to embrace it as their normal versus mine.

Brené Brown famously said, "Owning our stories and loving ourselves in the process is the bravest thing we will ever do." Now those are some words to hold on to and believe. Cheers to owning your story. Cheers to owning your normal. Cheers to you, exactly as you are, exactly where you stand.

It's nothing to take for granted.