On Letting Go of Where We Thought We’d Be

The blue plus sign confirmed my recent suspicions.

“It’ll take at least a year to get pregnant,” my doctor assured me. Three months later, I sat beneath the skylight of our mobile home, staring at a tiny gray window on a white stick, wondering how I would ever finish nursing school with a baby on my hip. 

Months passed and my growing belly seemed to push my dreams of being a nurse outside the realm of possibility. After a difficult summer of deliberation, I emailed my professors to inform them that I would not be returning to the program. One determined instructor, Marty, called to help me explore options but without local support and the increasing demands of my husband’s job, I couldn’t see a way forward. Our tight-knit community had just disbanded and without any local family, I would be on my own to adjust to our first newborn, while trying to manage (survive) an intensive nursing program and a long commute. There was simply no way I could finish. Marty wept with me as I began to let go of a dream I’d worked so hard to achieve.

Photo by Leon Biss at Unsplash

It’s been nearly 17 years since I let that dream die and I spent years grieving it. The wound was deep and needed time to heal.

Recently, I celebrated my 46th birthday, which means I’m now closer to 50 than 40 and I’m feeling the reality of that shift more than I care to admit. I don’t feel unusually tired or weak nor do I feel the physical aches of aging (yet) but I do feel the pangs of *perceived* failure: I’m a middle-aged person with no ‘career’ to define the ongoing work of my life. 

To put it another way: I’m not where I thought I would be.

As I continue to explore my beliefs around life’s unexpected turns and the choices we make along the way, I’m finding that our expectations aren’t necessarily the issue—it’s the outcomes to which we’ve stitched our identity. For many of us, particularly those raised in certain religious traditions, the stakes may feel even higher because our life goals are often woven together with a punitive deity we’ve been taught to please in order to be ‘blessed’ or ‘favored.’ We may have internalized these kinds of messages in our formative years: 

If I’m ‘good,’ God will love me.

If I’m ‘good,’ God will bless me with health and wealth.

If I’m ‘good,’ God will make all my dreams come true.

If I’m ‘good,’ God will make my life easy and happy and safe. 

Our logical brain understands this poor theology as absurd, but still we carry around these warped ideas of ‘good’ and God, never unpacking their meaning or their impact on our thinking. The problem with these messages is that they attach our view of ‘good’ to outcomes, which we can’t always control. Living like these ‘if’ statements are cause-effect-Divine-guarantees leads to disillusionment, especially when our efforts or goodness don’t produce the desired outcomes we thought we could earn.

Photo by Merritt Thomas at unsplash

So, what happens when our anticipated outcomes don’t exactly reflect our valiant efforts and ‘good’ choices? 

What then? Were we not good enough? Did we not pray enough? Were we not spiritually aware enough? Religious enough? Hard working enough?

“I did everything you asked of me, God, and this is how You ‘bless’ me?”

“I pursued this dream because You led me to it and now You close the door?”

“I was faithful to Your calling so why did You let me waste all these years?”

“Why did You allow me the joy of dreaming only to jolt me awake with this harsh reality?” 

On and on our questions go, the answers elusive and unlikely to bring us the ‘peace that passes human understanding.’

I don’t know why my first pregnancy happened in the middle of nursing school.

I don’t know why I was led to invest my time, hard-earned money, and energy in an educational pursuit that led to no career. 

I don’t know why the Divine ever put healthcare dreams in my heart if They knew I couldn’t finish what I started. 

Through our human eyes, the Divine often appears woefully inefficient and seemingly apathetic to our end goals. 

Photo by Geronimo at Unsplash

We could speculate for years (and I have!) on the reasons why the Creator of our existence leads a particular way but I believe our energy is better spent in the present. We must allow ourselves space and time to grieve the loss of our dreams, of course, but in time we can also choose to trust the goodness of the Creator, even in the mysteries we were never meant to solve. We can then begin to reframe who we are, focus on who we’re becoming, and discover other work that makes us come alive. 

I never received an RN diploma but sixteen years ago, I held a beautiful, seven pound gift of grace in my weary arms.

I’m not a nurse but I’ve been a caregiver for nearly two decades.

I’m not a nurse but I’m a writer and I’m S L O W L Y building a coaching business that cares for people who feel overwhelmed.

I’m not a nurse but my knowledge and experiences have given me language and tools to more effectively advocate for my kids, particularly my disabled, neurodiverse son. 

I’m not a nurse and I’m not where I thought I’d be. But I’m grateful for who I am, who I’m becoming, and for the chance to do work that makes me come alive. 

Whatever we’re not, whatever programs we didn’t start or finish, whatever ‘career’ we don’t have, whatever shattered dreams we’re trying to piece together, we’re held by the kind hands of our Creator. We’re here, we’re alive, and we can still dream. 

More importantly, I believe, is who we choose to be when the road suddenly turns and we have little control over the timing or the place where we land. In those seasons, we must remember we have agency in how we respond. 

Maybe we don’t have the career we imagined in middle-age. 

Maybe it’s time we let go of who we thought we’d be and embrace who we are and where the road has taken us. How we do this varies with each person but will likely require self-reflection, identity work, meditation, community support, therapy, spiritual direction, coaching, or any combination of these helpful tools. 

As we learn to let go of where we thought we’d be, may we accept life’s sharp turns as opportunities to see the stunning views we may have otherwise missed. May we allow the sharp turns to chisel our rough edges so we can better reflect the compassionate Giver of life who sits with us in the death of our dreams. 

And may we receive the Divine invitation to let go of outcomes, to embrace our unexpected reality, to be open to new dreams, and to rest in the perfect love of the Divine who promises to be with us and for us through every bend in the road. 

Featured image by John Towner at Unsplash