I had a timeline.

Not in a rigid or unmoving way, but in a way that nurtured a quiet hope, in a way that tucked a soft expectation into my heart. Maybe I didn’t always say it out loud; maybe I wasn’t the friend who spoke about marriage as if it were the ultimate goal or my most desired dream. But still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought that by now I’d be saying I do, I thought that by now I’d be sending out save-the-dates, picking out dresses, and building a life with someone who chose me fully, and without hesitation.

Instead, I’m watching other people fall in love. I’m RSVPing to weddings from human beings who swore they’d never meet that milestone. I’m scrolling past baby announcements. I’m trying to smile through the pain when people say, “It’ll happen when you least expect it.” And within it all, I’m left wondering if it’s still okay to hope for something that seems so far away.

And maybe, in the quiet, I’m asking God a question that feels heavy in my heart:

“Why hasn’t it happened for me?”

I’m not wondering this in bitterness or comparison. Just in honesty. In the ache of knowing that I’d be a deeply beautiful partner — that I’m ready, that I’m open, that I’m prepared to honour what love stands for, while still feeling like love itself has passed me by. Like I’ve been skipped over, or forgotten by God along the way.

If that’s where I am, this is my reminder:

I am not behind. I am not forgotten. And there is nothing wrong with me.

Marriage is a beautiful thing, but it is not the ultimate measure of my worth as a human being. Being chosen by someone doesn’t suddenly make my life more valid or more meaningful. I am not waiting to be completed. I am not “on hold” until someone loves me in the way I have always hoped to be loved. This chapter isn’t a placeholder; this season is not something to try to rush through. This is my life. This is my journey.

And it’s allowed to be full. It’s allowed to be joyful. It’s allowed to be holy and rich and deeply moving — even without a ring.

Still, it’s okay to grieve. I am allowed to grieve the timeline I thought I’d be on by now. I am allowed to grieve the relationships that didn’t last. I am allowed to grieve the future I planned in my head a little too soon. God is strong enough to hold that grief. God won’t rush me through it. He won’t shame me for it. He just wants to meet me in it.

I don’t have to pretend this doesn’t hurt. I don’t have to swallow the ache. I can long for marriage and still live a beautiful life in the waiting. I can long for a partner and still honour who I am on my own, who I am becoming.

And maybe that’s the most sacred part —

That even in the unknown, even in the loneliness, even in the “not-yets” — I still get to choose trust. I still get to choose to believe that God hasn’t forgotten me. That he isn’t late. That my story isn’t over. That it’s just unfolding differently.

If I thought I’d be married by now, and I’m not — I am not broken. I am not behind. I am becoming.

And when love does come, when it’s true and safe and authored by God himself — I’ll meet it not from a place of loneliness, but from wholeness. From strength. From a life already full of meaning, purpose, and grace.

Until then, may I fall in love with my own existence, with my own companionship. May I fall deeper in love with God. And may I walk forward, not just waiting for someone to choose me, but remembering that I am already so deeply chosen by someone who has always loved me, by someone who has always made me their priority.