When I was 12 years old, I dreamed of getting married by age 23 and having my first child by age 25. I would live in a nice house near the beach, and travel when I wanted to.

At 25, I was nowhere near being married or having my first child. In fact, I was in the midst of a physiotherapy program in Jamaica. During my mid-twenties, those “big plans” I made seemed like a joke.

My romantic relationships were minimal but impactful. I met my first love LM while in ninth grade. For a few years, we had an on and off again relationship but I always pictured us together, despite our fluctuating relationship status.

In 1995, when I left for Jamaica to pursue my dream of becoming a physiotherapist, LM and I did not part on good terms. Not wanting to wait till I returned home on a break, I spent weeks writing him one of those “clear-the-air” letters. But he never received nor got the opportunity to read it. To this day I recall the fateful phone call from my best friend and her words, “Heathie, I don’t know how to tell you this but, LM is dead; he was murdered tonight.” As I sat there stunned, tears streaming down my face, wondering if I heard correctly, I felt like part of me had died too. His sister said the letter — a tribute to our love, our mistakes, and my forgiveness — arrived a few days after he was killed. They buried the letter with him. I cried for days and weeks.

Throughout my thirties and early to mid- forties I had a few fruitless relationships and some heart breaks. Traveled to many countries as 12-year-old Heather had dreamed of, became the first Director Rehabilitation Services within the organization I was employed with, but the plan of starting a family of my own was an ongoing pipe dream. Despite my professional and other successes, I felt a void.

Since leaving the Bahamas for university in 1994, the “freshman 15” was for me a “freshman 50”, increasing each year. I suffered through insecurities of being overweight for years. Men found me attractive, but I didn’t feel attractive. I blamed my inability “to keep a man” on my weight. I watched friends settle into relationships and became accustomed to my singleness.

I wondered why I always ended up in the “good friend'' category and not the “girlfriend” or “wife” category? Was there more I should be doing with my life? What was my purpose?