Its a cliché I know but its true. Life never ends up turning out quite the way we had planed does it? There always seems to come a certain point where you’re peddling along nicely and you hit a rock in the road. The wheels get dented again and again and the ride becomes so wobbly. It gets so difficult and one day, eventually, you loose balance and gravity wins. You find yourself needing to make repairs, get a new bike and find a new route.

Primary school leads to secondary, leads to college. Maybe that perfect relationship comes along, a job, a dog, a marriage, a family and that big garden you always wanted too. In my eyes all this would be well on its way to me at the ripe age of 25 years and the rest would be gravy. Here I come world!

But no. This was the year I walked out on my fiancé, left my home we had bought together when we were only 20 years old and moved back in with my parents to start again. All while plodding along in a job I had no real passion or desire for because I decided being utterly head over heels in blind love with my wandering hands boyfriend, was more vital to my life than that unconditional offer at the London school of Speech and Drama at the tender age of 18.

Even after navigating that turn of events there was still the hope of a fairy tale. I really was a romantic waiting. Just like a puppy in desperate anticipation for someone to throw that damn ball I was ready to chase a life I has envisioned which would be in full technicolour animated by Disney himself.

Letting go of those dreamy ideals have been tricky. There’s a certain feeling of failure that’s attached to not achieving that social norm. Watching those around you succeeding at the version of events you had planned for yourself makes for tough viewing.

I was swept off my feet eventually though. My cup of tall, dark and handsome came along unannounced taking me by surprise, grabbed my hand and off we went much to the relief of myself and probably to those around me. Bingo! The road was not always smooth but it was real and together we navigated those bumps and our adventures always resumed . A little house came along, a rabbit, a marriage proposal, a new job with slightly more prospects and a wedding 2 months before turning 30. Not that I was running to catch up, but catching up I was.

Eventually, we moved into a bigger place and by the time the baby was on the way everything seemed sweet. I was just about to complete a degree for goodness sake! Who am I? We’d do the garden next and I reckoned that pair of  Manolo’s I bought on my honeymoon from Bergdorf’s would be getting more action.

But no. Three months after our son was born I suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm, a huge bleed on the brain with a 20% survival rating. I had no idea. I’d hit another rock. A really fucking big one that needed a titanium pate to repair and a long stint in rehab. Time to re-calculate the journey once more. This one was tough.

I didn’t go back to work. In fact I haven’t earned much at all in 10 years. I am a stay at home mum and I felt the shame that comes with the whisper of offering that information when asked ‘what do you do?’ The back garden took a back seat. I still have that pretty pair of shoes but I found out my feet are much happier bare or in Adidas.

I’ve always spent a lot of my time questioning my value. I never seemed to get anywhere. I never really felt good enough. I never seemed to get over the next hurdle and felt like people pitied me and my lack of decent earnings. That I was a bit lost and needed looking after. I had nothing to show the world that I was succeeding. Comparing myself to what I thought was other peoples success in life sucked me of my self worth. I needed to prove myself. To reach my full potential, whatever that meant and make up for those bad choices I made, as if they were like, totally part of the plan. It was exhausting. I didn’t realise that yes, I am a stay at home mum. I am a wife too… but I also paint and write and travel and walk the dog and more. There are so many things that I do. But none of these come with a wage.

I think most believe I have had a care free life, with all this time to ponder all my first world problems and spend my husbands hard earned money at my leisure. Don’t they? When the truth is we are a one income family which is pipped by our friends dual incomes now but we choose to keep it this way for as long as we can. Who knows, maybe one day someone will buy a painting.

Believe me, I have felt so guilty among hard working friends. I was in awe of their stressful jobs and ability to juggle kids and careers and I still am. I found myself expressing how lucky I am while listening to these fraught lives. Then I would have to explain the circumstances of why I don’t have such a fulfilling life like them to justify myself. I needed to squash any negative assumptions and make them believe I’m one of them. I don’t think I was fooling anyone.

 But now I’ve found myself in a rather unexpected position. 10 years after my brush with death and 19 years after walking away from my first love it turns out what happened for the worse ended up changing me for the better. My outlook on life, what really makes me happy, what I want my life to look like from here on out and what truly matters to me in the cold light of day. Christ It’s been a hell of trek.

The view has changed. I see that as I didn’t have a career I’m not half way up a ladder on my way to the top juggling childcare, stress, self care and the shopping. I have no base line wage to keep up the life I have so whatever I make is a bonus. I don’t need to make an impossible choice if I want to jump off the ladder to start again on a new career path with a fresh perspective because I’m still wandering around at sea level. I’m mooching, discovering life still. I’m actually OK with this which is new. I’m finally letting life come at me, rather than chasing it. I find myself feeling so incredibly lucky to have the freedom I do. A quiet, peaceful life where I get to indulge in simple passions that have no value to anyone other than myself within the nurturing comfort of my tiny family of three. I’ve never been more in love with my life.

I have to accept that I cannot change the way others perceive me. No longer do I wear the t-shirt explaining myself. People will create a story of me in their head and they will run with that version and I’m not going to try to intercept their thoughts anymore. There is always going to be tough choices, life admin and shit will happen. I’m realising that life is what you make it and you cannot rely on anyone but yourself to create your version of events. We get this little, minute pocket of time to carve our own existence. To live.

Letting go of what I “thought” life would look like meant thinking outside the conventional box, ignoring any judgement that glances my way, sticking my fingers in my ears, keeping my head up and accepting there are multiple was to get where you want to be. For some this can a short trip, for some it takes a life time and I can’t help but wonder, how do you measure and define a successful life?

Looking back I wouldn’t change a thing. Life isn’t linear. Its, passion, it sadness, its exhilarating, devastating, hard and joyful. Its evolving, its changing, its becoming and it’s experiencing every single emotion in the bag. I accept that just because life didn’t turn out the way I planned, it doesn’t make me any less worthy of having the life I do now. My value isn’t defined by what I do for a living and the money I make but who I am and how I do my living. I admire this wonderful life I have walked all these years and I’m proud to have navigated and experienced all it’s funky twists and turns. I couldn’t agree more with Tolkien. All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wonder are lost.