It’s shortly after midnight and thus I am officially turning 31 today. In recent years, my birthday has usually been an occasion for sadness and regrets as it reminded me of how little I accomplished and how I was growing older without having the life I wanted to live. Especially the big 3-0 last year I had dreaded – when I was younger, I would console myself that even if the situation was bad then, I would surely be in a better place at 30. As the day approached and it was painfully obvious that my circumstances had hardly changed during the previous decade, it was the final kick into the abyss.
One year later, I’m in a much better place. Not everything is great, but there were enough changes to make me believe that I will eventually get the life I want.
For one, there is my boyfriend and the fact that we finally carried our relationship to the next (“real life”) level. Prior to his arrival in December, I would often be tormented by anxieties about whether we’d actually manage to do so, not to mention the irrational fears that I’d end up as an old spinster, forever alone. Crazy-cat-lady-to-be.
Obviously, I’m not worried about that anymore, and the time we had together was so wonderful, so peaceful. I love him so much…
Then, there’s the fact that I’ve recovered from the depression and made so much progress in therapy. For the first time in years, it feels like something’s happening, that I’m not stuck in a loop.