On following your own path

I wish I could follow the script—the one everyone else seems to have down. It looks so simple:

1. Graduate college

2. Get a job and climb the corporate ladder

3. Find a boyfriend

4. Get a dog

5. Get married

6. Buy a house

7. Have kids

Then… Happiness!

We’re given this neat formula, a blueprint for a fulfilling life. But when you’re like me—and that formula doesn’t fit—you’re left with a wide-open space of uncertainty. A blank canvas. A void to fill. And you’re the one left figuring out what the hell goes there.

For me, this realization wasn’t a sudden epiphany but a slow unraveling. Through years of meditation and yoga, I’ve learned to tune in to my inner guidance and let that inform my major life decisions. When a decision feels right, there's a softening — a feeling of connection to my wholeness, as if I’m making the choice from a place of deep alignment. It’s like a full-body "yes."

Take my recent decision to move out of the home I shared with my partner. I now live alone in a small studio apartment—the first time I’ve ever been on my own. On the surface, it might look like a step backward. No shared rent. No relationship milestones to share on instagram. Just me, figuring things out in a quiet little space. But deep down, I know it was the right move.

I needed this space. To breathe. To listen to myself. To come back home—to me.

I’m 34, unmarried, and childfree. And while I know I want children, there’s no clear path to that future right now. My partner loves me, is committed to me, and wants a family with me. For a long time, I blamed him. Then, I blamed myself. I thought it was my mental health holding us back. I told myself that I was the problem, and if I could just fix me, everything else would fall into place.

But in the quiet of my gut, I felt something different. It wasn’t about fixing myself — it was about learning to stand on my own, to meet partnership from a place of wholeness.

Here’s the thing: when I live out of alignment, I feel it physically. It’s not just a nagging thought; it’s a visceral discomfort—a heaviness I can’t ignore. And while my mind might rationalize staying, my being always knows.

Alignment isn’t easy. It often means stepping away from the familiar and into uncertainty. It means trusting the soft whisper of your truth over the loud chatter of expectation.

So here I am, rewriting the formula. It’s not linear. It’s not neat. But it’s mine.