Your parents' divorce is one of the best things that could possibly happen to you.
Of course, it doesn't seem that way right now. You're hurting and you feel betrayed by your dad. Your mom is struggling to raise you and your sister alone. The three of you never seem to get along. It's awful.
But your new step-mother is not a wicked one. You will both grow together - she as a more confident mother and you as a more mature daughter. She will never try to replace your mom, and that is exactly how she will succeed at being one.
The little girl who "stole" your Daddy from you will grow into your best friend and confidante. She will amaze you with wisdom that should be coming from a person much more experienced than she.
You will be deeply hurt when your biological mother and sister cannot attend your wedding, but these women will stand in their places - not as substitutes, but as shining examples of love that binds where blood does not.
And yes - that means you will find the love of your life. You will marry the man who loves you for who you are, who loves you because you are strong and you are a Christian and you are curvy and you like pickles and you can quote "Star Wars". He is out there, and he is fumbling along, the same as you, asking God where you are and making tons of mistakes in the meantime.
Just like you.
Do you remember completing that survey in kindergarten? The one that asked the question: What do you want to be when you grow up? You answered: a mommy. You changed your mind when your parents were divorced because you never wanted to put a child through the hell that you went through. You will your mind again in college when you begin working with the little ones at church - which will be more fulfilling that you can imagine.
But the road to motherhood will be very difficult for you. Your first pregnancy will be a surprise and, even though you will be happily married at the time, you will fight feelings of shock and guilt, because you didn't feel you were ready. When you lose the baby three months later, you will fight those same feelings, magnified a hundred times. The good news is, you will have much support from your family and friends, particularly the women at church, because many of them have endured the same heartache.
You will find strength in your own words. God will keep you fighting, and your words will be your weapon. More than it ever has been, your writing will be your lifeline. Expressing yourself will be the key to unlocking your own feelings and it will help you sort through your troubles. It will also bless others who are traveling on the same road as you.
You will go on to lose two more children. The second loss will be the hardest, because this child will be the only one whose heartbeat you actually get to see, a mere week before another ultrasound fails to find life in your womb.
You will be pressed hard, but you will not be crushed. You will come close to giving up, but you will hold on to hope as your friends surround you, pray for you, encourage you and believe in you.
Your relationship with God will fluctuate, just as it does with your earthly companions. Some days, you will feel distant from him, wondering why he is allowing you to walk this path. Others, you will feel wrapped in his love and want to share it with boldness.
Your relationship with your mother will be similar. You will learn, much later in life, that you share many of the traits that you found irritating in her, but you will also learn that, in some ways, you are stronger than she is.
Was.
She will die unexpectedly, painfully, and you will find in yourself a silent strength that will carry you through the first few weeks, but you will begin to fall apart in the months that follow. You will need to reach out to others because you will feel even more alone that you did during your miscarriages. You will realize that your mother will not be alive when you finally do have your first child. She will not bake you another birthday cake, or send you another silly letter with colored pencil doodles in it, or share another story about her many adopted pets.
You will be there when she dies. You will be the last family member she makes eye contact with, and that fact alone will sustain you in many dark hours. She saw you. She knew you came to her. And she was deeply sorry.
About everything.
Not long after, you will have that little baby you prayed for. The pregnancy will be fraught with challenges, which will be no surprise to you, but you will eventually hold a precious son in your arms and you will call him your joy and your promise.
Your church family will continue to grow in importance. You will develop deeper relationships with some of the women than you ever had with your biological sister - who will, sadly, grow far apart from the family - and you will treasure them.
You will have days which will scare you. Days which will make you think you inherited your mother's anxiety. Days which will make you think you are not cut out to be a mother, or a wife, or a friend. You will have days that make you feel like a champion. Days that make you believe you can do anything.
You will run a 5K, despite your lifelong challenges with asthma.
You will lose 20 pounds, despite your lifelong struggles with your weight.
You will have beloved pets of your own, despite your diagnosis of allergies.
You will be disappointed, despite your best plans.
You will be surprised, despite your worst fears.
You will keep going when everything in you cries out to lay down and die.
You will doubt yourself and hate yourself and love yourself and respect yourself.
You will live a lifetime and a half in the next sixteen years, and then you will gaze into the past with pity and envy and admiration for your sixteen-year-old self.
The last thing you will say before returning, in your mind, to the present, is:
It gets worse, but then it gets so much better. It's always too soon to give up.
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