You should have life figured out by 37, right?

Or so I thought.

Instead, I am here — turning 37 next weekend, going through a traumatizing divorce after an 11-year marriage, a single mom raising a preteen and a post-toddler 24/7 while holding down a full-time job, going to school, financially broke, and with no family nearby on this continent.

I thought my thirties would be a time of flourishing, but instead they have been trying. I married out of love, I said, but now I realized it was out of necessity. The necessity to be loved, accepted, and acknowledged. That’s a recipe for disaster. And I picked a partner who mirrored back to me all my flaws and insecurities. I was repeating all these patterns I saw in my family, society, and culture. Don’t get me wrong — there was nothing wrong with my partner — all of the verbal, emotional, and physical abuse that happened at the end of our marriage was due to his internal state and his choices. He is the way he is because of his unresolved inner workings. There’s so much that you can run from yourself. And we are not responsible for our partner’s choices. But our own.

And I choose not to blame him for what happened. I decided to stay. I chose to give second chances and trust without proof. Those were my choices, and I am bearing the consequences. Since we separated, I’ve been able to complete around 65% of my bucket list. I realized that he did hold me back due to circumstances, personal beliefs, our trauma bonding, and his insecurities. He made it increasingly hard for me to enjoy motherhood and womanhood. I still choose to take responsibility for my share of what happened because you cannot wait for closure from someone holding the knife.

And this is my freedom. This is my atonement and my self-proclamation.

I hold onto the belief that this is just the start, and although I don’t have my life figured out at 37, there’s still hope that, with hard work and intentionality, I can build the life I envision.

When life is hard, I choose to dream without giving up.