It’s difficult to reconcile: being proud of what you can do alone, and desperately wanting to not have to do it.
I wrote earlier this year about how turning 35 meant letting go of a life I had imagined for myself and replacing it with something else, something I was already living. But the real truth there? (Again, the but). I stopped short of the part where I admit that even in my happiness, there is still sadness. That I do still want a husband, and I do still want children. I have accepted that I don’t have them now, and I have made my life work without them because that’s what I had to do. It wasn’t brave, or strong, it just was.
Because you adapt, and you let go, and you accept, or you won’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.