This wasn’t the Plan. It was the Path.

As my “About Me” reads, the plan was laid out for me long before I even had the chance to ask myself what I wanted. It was the delicate curation of womanhood—silent, graceful, and accommodating.

“You need to learn how to do household chores or people will say you weren’t raised right.”
My mother’s voice echoes in the back of my head even today. A voice not of cruelty, but of conditioning. She didn’t know any other way. None of us did.

It wasn’t a bad plan, really. I dreamt of it for years—graduation by 21, a master’s by 24, marriage by 25, first child by 28. I followed it like scripture. It made me feel safe, like life had a sequence, like I was doing “it” right.

But then life broke open. The divine had other plans.

When the Timeline Derailed

It started subtly—confusion, restlessness, a nagging sense that I didn’t fit the mold. And then came the global pandemic, sweeping away the illusion of control.

The timelines blurred. The noise faded. I was left with silence, and in that silence—I met myself. Not the version sculpted for approval, but the one gasping to breathe outside the plan.

I held on to dear life as everything unravelled and reassembled. I grieved the version of myself that once felt so certain. And I welcomed the unfamiliar.

I Don’t Even Have a “Pla”

Today, I’m a twenty-something woman with no plan. Or in the words of the ever-wise Phoebe Buffay:
“I don’t even have a pla.”

And for the first time, I’m okay with that.

There’s something freeing about not checking boxes. About being in your body, in your breath. About making choices not because you “should” but because they feel aligned.

This surrender isn’t lazy—it’s intentional. And strangely, it feels like peace.

The Version of Me That’s Emerging

If 18-year-old me knew I’d be single at this age, she might’ve cried. But I look at her with compassion now. Because she didn’t know that the absence of a partner could create the space for something even deeper: partnership with myself.

I’ve never felt this whole. Never had this much room to nourish my body, honor my emotions, or follow a soul nudge without needing permission.
It’s not perfect. The guilt shows up, especially when you come from a culture that rewards self-sacrifice. But with time, the guilt becomes background noise. And your truth becomes louder.

I Was Taught to Be Quiet—But I Can’t Anymore

I was taught that a good woman is soft-spoken. That anger is unattractive. That opinions should be filtered through a smile. That self-expression is rebellion.

But something inside me cracked open. And I can’t keep quiet anymore—not because I’m angry, but because I’m finally alive.
I won’t mute myself just to keep things comfortable for others.

Because being a woman isn’t a script. It’s a becoming.

And this blog? It’s my becoming.

This Is My Beginning

sjaywanders is not a destination. It’s not a polished portfolio of picture-perfect days.
It’s a map made in real time, scribbled with detours, soul nudges, intuitive pivots, and quiet miracles.

If you’re here, maybe you’re wandering too.
Maybe your plan broke down.
Maybe you’re grieving a life you thought you’d have.
Or maybe—just maybe—you’re beginning to feel the joy of choosing yourself.

Whatever brings you here, welcome.
You don’t need a plan to belong. You just need presence.

So, let’s wander together.

SjayWanders