Holy Mess, Whole Me

It hit me this morning—one of those quiet, gut-punch realizations that sneaks in when you’re not looking.

I have NEVER purchased my own car. Not once. Not even picked one out. Every car I’ve driven was either handed to me, chosen for me, or decided by someone else. The make, the model, the color, the payment—it was always someone else’s call.

And then it spiraled. Because on top of that, I realized I have never chosen my own home or living situation either. Every place I’ve ever lived was the result of someone else’s decision—parents, partners, circumstances—not mine. I’ve adapted, I’ve made the best of it, I’ve decorated and nested and called it home, but it was never something I chose.

And now… here I am, pushing forty, staring down the truth that I have never done either of these basic adult things for myself.

It’s not just about cars or houses. It’s about the thread running through my whole life—the quiet, unspoken reality that I have been dependent on others in more ways than I ever realized. Sometimes because I had to be. Sometimes because it was easier. Sometimes because I didn’t even question it. Maybe that is why I scoff when someone tells me how “in awe” the are of me when it comes to things that I have done in my life.

There’s a sadness in this truth. A feeling of loss—not just of choices I didn’t make, but of the version of myself I might have been if I had been more independent, more decisive, more… me.

I’m left wondering how much of my life has been truly mine, and how much has been me just living inside someone else’s decisions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the people that have been there, for the life that has been made possible because of the choices that have been made.

However, the more I am mulling it over, the more I wonder if I am repeating the same cycle with my own children? And if that is the case, what steps do I need to take to fix that before its unfixable?

Maybe that’s the next chapter—learning how to choose. Not just for the sake of having my name on a title or a lease, but for the sake of knowing that, at least once, I picked my own road and my own roof.

Because I’m starting to think independence isn’t something you’re given—it’s something you have to claim.