Thanks to facebook, I now know every detail of the lives of pretty much everyone I've ever met, gone to high school with, etc. In many ways, this is a good thing. But it's also caused me to realize something: if there is such a thing as a "normal life," I'm really not living it.
Basically, everyone I went to high school with went to college, got a job, met a someone, got engaged and had things like engagement parties and wedding showers (I know this because there is photographic evidence to back it up), got married, bought houses, got pregnant, etc. There seems to be no end to the cute, smiling wedding photos, the baby announcements, the mentions of things like "girls weekend" and sailing trips, buying houses, calling plumbers, etc. Normal things that 30 year olds do, or are starting to do.
Now of course I realize that this is not a realistic portrayal of everyone's whole life, it's not like they are posting all the bad parts, but seriously, these people seem happy.
Me? I married a drug addict, had two babies with him while living in crappy apartments and then got divorced. No engagement party, no house. No girls weekend. No boat. No Pottery Barn Baby bedding. And it's fine, right? It's fine. I'm fine with it. I made my decisions, I have two beautiful children, I got a master's degree somewhere between the eloping and baby number 2, and I have a great job that I'm good at and have enjoyed some success (I was in a national magazine this month!).
But truth be told, I'm jealous. With my ex not paying child support, my debt payoff goal has been pushed back by years. YEARS. I've even been wondering if filing for bankruptcy is my best option. I'll probably never be able to buy a house, or not for a long time. And buying your first house at 40 or something is depressing. I'm working my butt off to fix things, to stay afloat, and I know I'm doing right by my kids, but what am I doing for me? I'm essentially working my butt off to make up for a bad decision I made when I was 24 years old. I've wasted more than half my 20s and now probably all my 30s because I was too afraid to admit that I knew I was making a mistake. I had no idea.
It's hard to admit that you feel jipped by life, when you know it could always be worse. I could be homeless. Heck, I could still be married to him. Something could have happened to my kids. Something could have happened to me. But it still doesn't make me feel better when I see those "my hubby hung up the baby's shelves tonight!" status updates. I'm just being honest, I guess.