The Life I Didn’t Live & the One I Built Instead

Sometimes I catch myself wondering what my life would’ve looked like if I had been that “ballerina wife.”

The one with the polished kitchen, the perfect husband, and ten children giggling as a private chef stirred soup in a designer pot.

A life where abundance had a soundtrack — laughter, rhythm, creation, and everything unfolding neatly under one roof.

But life wrote its own choreography.

There was no millionaire husband, no glittering home, and no team of nannies chasing toddlers while I sipped espresso in silk pajamas.

Instead, I had one child, a divorce, and a moment that forced me to realize no one was coming to save me.

So, I did what many women quietly do when the script falls apart — I became my hero.

I ran — first from heartbreak, then from a country unraveling in chaos.

And somewhere along that long road, I understood something sacred: maybe I wasn’t meant to have ten children.

Perhaps my purpose was to raise only one child — and to raise myself.

Those long, heavy days that once felt endless — picking up toys, counting coins, crying behind closed doors — were, in truth, a kind of paradise in disguise.

My child was healthy.

I was alive.

And even in the ruins, there was a pulse — the stubborn, steady heartbeat of a woman refusing to disappear.

Now, when I look back, I don’t see tragedy.

I see survival, and I see a woman who rebuilt her life — without filters, sponsorships, and anyone’s permission.

Let’s embrace the beauty of an unplanned life, especially when it leads to your destiny.