In 2013, I reconnected with an old boyfriend.
We'd first met years earlier and had dated for just over a year. It just hadn't worked out… but I was 30 now.
It felt more meaningful. It must be "meant to be", right?
It certainly seemed that way. This time we were engaged and married within nine months, and just weeks after that I fell pregnant with our first daughter.
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We moved out to a property my partner had bought just before we got back together. We were four hours north of the city now, the only home I’d ever known, and with hindsight I can say it was with this decision that I lost myself.
I wanted to be with my partner and raise our family. But I didn't want to be so isolated. I felt stuck.
Fast forward to May 2020. We had two girls by then. After facing a horrific bushfire season the previous year, we were now in the early months of the pandemic.
My partner had changed in the last few years; I'd started to worry we were growing apart.