Pieces
Pieces I suppose everyone, at some point, looks back on their life and realizes it hasn’t turned out the way they envisioned. I often find myself pondering where it all went wrong. My childhood, while not perfect, was decent, so I can’t place the blame there. After high school, I did what was recommended by my culture; got married, had kids, and finished my college degree. It all seemed to align perfectly—it was exactly what I was supposed to do. But at just 23, I think I was too young to truly know myself, what I needed, or what I truly required in a relationship. Now, 28 years later, I’m left picking up the pieces of a shattered life, and wondering how to fix it. Knowing what I wish I had understood back then makes me desperate to go back and redo it all. Yet, we know that’s impossible. Instead, I feel a pressing need to make things right by grasping for the aspects of myself that now define who I am. I’ve always had a good sense of my identity, but my instinct has often been to push...