When I was sixteen, I honestly thought that I had my whole life planned out. I’d go all the way through grad school for psychology, fall in love at some point, graduate cum laude, get a great job as a family therapist, get married, have four or five kids, maybe publish a couple fictitious YA novels, have a house built from the ground up, and live happily ever after. That was the plan, and I was sure, at the age of sixteen, that it would come true for me.