More on Plan B

I was just like every other girl born and raised in the gospel. I felt blessed to have the truth in my life and I took full advantage of the wonderful opportunities the gospel provided to me. After high school graduation, I went to BYU in pursuit of higher education, and hopefully, that one returned missionary I’ve been told about my entire life.

I loved BYU. I enjoyed my time with roommates and the education I was receiving. I found myself involved in social circles that reflected the values I’d been taught my entire life and I loved learning and growing in ways I didn’t know were possible. I was progressing spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually. I thought this was the best time of my life. I couldn’t imagine being any happier than I was during that time in my life.

I had my share of suitors. I dated—a lot. Some of those dates even turned into relationships. For one reason or another, those relationships were short lived—the longest being about four months. I was young and I was having fun so the length of these relationships never bothered me. At least not until graduation day. I was 22 years old and receiving my bachelor’s degree. I wasn’t married; in fact, I had just ended one of the many short-term relationships. It was a strange feeling to know I was leaving BYU without a husband, yet I felt so liberated and new. Twenty-two years old was so young and I had the entire world at my finger tips. With my college degree in hand, I was ready to start a career. Yet even at that young age, I felt I should have been married. That instead of starting a career, I should be starting a family. It was a bitter-sweet day for me. I was moving on to a new chapter of life, but was this the right chapter to be moving onto?

The mixed emotions were a result of the culture I was surrounded by. Many wondered if I’d ever find a husband outside of BYU and what was my plan for the future. I admit, I asked myself those same questions.

But life went on. I found myself working full-time and progressing in different ways than I ever imagined I could while I was in college. I enjoyed my life, yet my culture was telling me something was missing, that something was wrong with my life. You don’t have to look far in Utah County to be reminded that husbands, eternal marriages, and a family of your own are the center of the culture. There are reminders of this everywhere I look. At church, there’s the perfect little family sitting in front of me. At the grocery store is the young mother with her toddler. And even in my own social circles. My friends from high school and college were all progressing in this part of their life. Some of them had even been married for 10 years with a couple of kids. I felt that something was wrong with me. I wasn’t married, I didn’t have children—something had to be wrong with me. At least that’s what I was being told. By this point, I was in my mid-20s and the reality of my life hit.