My life is fiction based. It's not that I've faked my way through my life, but I've grown up on books and novels that paint the heroine as strong and independent, but not independent enough to go it alone, to stand on her own and face the plot of the story unassisted.
Ok, maybe there were a few books that started out with our main character puts on her armor, shines her sword, slays the dragon, but then finds someone calm and good and nice to settle down with.
I thought I found that person to settle down with, to find that happy comfortable place. I was wrong. The blame is on me. I settled before I got to fight any dragons. I had some armor, and a sword, and they went into the attic to collect dust.
So my pages are blank now. I'm going to climb into that attic, pour myself into armor that doesn't quite fit, pick up a sword that no longer has an edge, and struggle forward. I would've been better at this 20 years earlier, but maybe I would just have different wounds to heal.
I'll write a new story, where I'm the heroine. There are still dragons. And I'm as ready as I'll ever be.