My first thoughts were that my life was coming to an end. My independence, my freedom, and my future. I then understood that it wasn’t my future that was coming to an end. What was coming to an end was the irresponsibility and immaturity that consumed my life. The unreliability and the injudiciousness was the part of me being sacrificed. So rather than coming to an end, I just couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see a future for myself.
I used to want to be a writer. I’d fill countless notebooks with stories played out in my head about young girls like me. I envisioned the personalities, the features, and the dreams of each and every character as if they were real people with real aspirations. Flipping through the old, worn notebooks, I came to the realization that none of the stories had an ending. Not one. I realized that like these fictional characters, I was full of hopes and ambitions. What starts out as a blank canvas becomes enriched with vitality.
Similar to the characters I had made, my story has just begun. I realized that the past has already been written, and it’s up to me as to how my story will end. The blessing of a baby has only left a positive impact on my future because of the motivation and perspective it has brought me. The only thing about my future that has changed is that now I get to share it with a beautiful baby girl.