When Will It Be Me

In The Present

I never expected my life to turn out this way.

Honestly, I thought things would be easier by now.

I never imagined I would still be struggling to finish my dream of becoming a nurse, constantly worrying about money and wondering how I was going to make it through another month.

When I was younger, I had this picture in my head of what my life would look like. I would have my son, build a life with the man I loved, and somehow everything would fall into place.

Except it didn't.

Especially not after I married the man my parents never wanted me to be with.

Maybe they knew something I didn't.

Or maybe they were simply wrong about him.

Either way, I was about to find out just how much one decision could change my life.

The water was running, but I barely felt it.

I sat on the floor of the shower with my knees pulled toward my chest, trying to cry quietly even though there was no one there to hear me.

Everything was a mess.

Money was always the problem.

Somehow, no matter how hard I tried, there was never enough. And somehow, I was always the one being blamed for it.

You don't know how to budget.

You spend everything.

Maybe they were right. Maybe I really was doing something wrong. But I was tired of constantly feeling like everything was my fault.

I wanted to change.

I wanted to think differently. I wanted to believe that my life could be more than constantly worrying about bills, trying to stretch money that wasn't enough, and wondering how we were going to make it through the next month.

But even trying to change the way I thought became another argument.

I was told changing my mindset was wrong.

That it was evil.

That I was going against God's way.

But sitting there beneath the water, with tears running down my face, I couldn't stop wondering...

What if changing the way I thought wasn't about turning my back on God?

What if it was about finally believing that my life could change?

I couldn't keep pretending that I was the only one who needed to change.

“It's not just me,” I finally said.

My voice shook, but I didn't take it back.

“If we're going to change our lives, then we both have to change. I can't be the only one who works harder. I can't keep trying to fix everything by myself.”

I had tried.

I had tried to finish my nursing career. I had tried side jobs, hoping that maybe the next one would finally be the thing that helped us get ahead. I had started things with good intentions, only to watch them fall apart before they had a chance to become something permanent.

And yet, when it was his turn to try something, I supported him.

I let him spend money on things I wasn't convinced would work. I encouraged him even when a part of me was afraid we were making another mistake.

Why?

Because deep down, I believed in us.

I believed that with just a little faith, somehow we'd overcome all of this.

But now I needed him to believe in me.

I took a breath.

“I want to try something different.”

He looked at me.

“Different how?”

For a moment, I almost backed down.

Then I said it.

“I want to write.”

The words sounded almost ridiculous coming out of my mouth.

But at the same time, they felt right.

“I want to start writing. I want to see if I can actually make money from it.”

I didn't know where it would lead.

I didn't know if anyone would read anything I wrote.

I didn't even know if I could actually finish a book.

But I knew one thing.

I had stories inside me.

So many of them.

Some were completely made up. Others came from things I'd lived through, things I'd seen, things I'd felt.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't thinking about what could go wrong.

I was thinking about what might happen...

if I actually tried.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Are you sure?”

I looked at him.

“You really think you're capable of doing it?”

There was something in his voice that I couldn't quite place.

Maybe he was trying to support me. Maybe he wanted to believe in me.

But there was also doubt.

Not necessarily doubt that I could write.

Doubt that writing could actually change anything.

“It isn't exactly a quick way to make money,” he said.

I knew he wasn't completely wrong.

Bills didn't wait for a book to become successful. Our problems weren't going to disappear because I opened a blank document and started typing.

But something inside me kept saying,

What if I don't try?

What if the stories I've been carrying around in my head for years are actually meant to become something?

“I know it's not quick,” I said. “I'm not saying it's going to fix everything tomorrow. I'm saying I need to try.”

I looked down at my hands.

“Because I can't keep wondering what would have happened if I had just believed in myself.”

“I'm doing it.”

My husband stared at me.

“Doing what?”

“Writing.”

I could feel the fear creeping back in, but this time I didn't let it take over.

“I don't know how yet. I don't know where to start. I don't know if anyone is going to read what I write. And honestly, I don't even know if I'm good enough.”

I swallowed.

“But I'm going to find out.”

For years, I had convinced myself that I needed to have everything figured out before I could begin.

I needed the perfect plan.

The perfect opportunity.

The perfect moment.

Maybe that's why I had spent so much time dreaming instead of doing.

But sitting there that night, I realized something.

I didn't need to know how to finish the story.

I just needed to write the first sentence.

So I opened my phone.

My fingers hovered over the screen.

A blank page stared back at me.

And suddenly, every story I'd ever imagined seemed to disappear.

My mind went completely empty.

I almost laughed.

“Of course,” I whispered. “The second I actually try to write, I can't think of a damn thing.”

But then I remembered all those stories.

The characters.

The romances.

The heartbreak.

The secrets.

The impossible situations I'd created in my head while driving, working, lying in bed, or doing absolutely nothing.

They were still there.

I just had to figure out how to get them out.

And that was where my real journey began.