How to dream again.

When I was little, I knew what I wanted. 

I wanted to be a stereotypical housewife living in suburbia. Beautiful, blond, the perfect mom. I'd be my kids best friend. My husband would come home after long days with a huge paycheck and we'd be so perfectly in love. We'd go on date nights often with our many friends. I'd be the young woman's president at church. When I'd have free time, I'd write. And one day, I'd finish a book and everyone would love it. I'd dedicate it to my beautiful daughters. I'd grow old with my husband next me. Then die peacefully in our sleep of old age. 

Doesn't that sound perfect? 

But I guess that's why they call it a dream. Not real.

Because right now, I'm not beautiful. I'm not blond anymore. I'm not a wife or mom. Everyday the realization that my kids will probably hate me becomes more and more clear to me. A husband who brings home a huge paycheck seems more and more out of the picture. I look in the mirror and realize I could never lead young women to where they need to be. And I read my writing and know that I will never be good enough for someone to love it. 

Life is sad like that. 

It allows you to dream. To decide at a young age what you really want. And then the longer you live, the more life breaks you down so those dreams seem further and further away.

Because I've lived almost 19 years now. And within those years I've had people tell me I am not pretty enough. I am not skinny enough. I've had people love me, and then leave. I've had people read my writing and tell me its not good. And it all happens over and over again. Too the point where the dreams I once had suddenly seem so far out of reach. 

Life does this. 

Why? 

Some would say its because life is hard. Life sucks. 

However, I don't believe that. 

Life does this because it wants you to believe your dreams could never come true.
So that when they do, you'll love them even more than you can possibly imagine.