Bob Ross used to say, “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.” He could take a stray brushstroke and turn it into a tree, a shadow, or part of a mountain. I’ve started to realize life can feel a lot like that.

We all carry an invisible picture of what we thought our life would look like. Maybe you imagined a dream career by now, marriage and a family of your own, financial security, or good health.

And then reality happens — and it doesn’t match the mental picture.

For me, that picture started to fade when at 40 I still didn't have that spouse or family of my own.  It’s not the story I thought I’d be living, and if I’m honest, it’s something I’ve had to grieve.

I use the word grief because that’s exactly what it is. I always thought grief only belonged to the loss of a loved one. But grief shows up in many forms. In this case, it’s the ache of realizing life isn’t unfolding the way you thought it would.

If you're in a similar situation of watching a dream fade, you and I have a choice. We can choose to stay stuck in our grief or we can work with God to become “happy little trees” who flourish and grow in the unique path God has set for us. Experts say there are 7 stages of grief, and by working through them, maybe we can come out stronger.

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Stage 1: Shock

“Wait… how did I get here?”

There are moments when it just hits you. For me, it was turning 40 and realizing the milestone looked nothing like it did for my friends who had gone through the same. For you, it might be sitting in a doctor’s office hearing news you never saw coming or scrolling Instagram and seeing yet another pregnancy announcement. Shock is that jolt of, This isn’t the plan. It’s like when Bob Ross dips into the wrong paint color — you stare at the canvas and wonder, What just happened?

Stage 2: Denial

“This isn’t really my story. Not yet.”

Denial is that voice that whispers, Don’t worry, it’ll all still turn out the way you planned. I carried that voice around for a long time. It helped me dodge the sting of disappointment, but it also blinded me to the beauty right in front of me. It’s the equivalent of insisting your crooked tree on the canvas still looks like a tree… when clearly, you’re not fooling anyone.

Stage 3: Anger

“This isn’t fair.”

I’ve had seasons of anger — at God, at myself, even at life itself. Why do others get what I’ve been praying for? Why does her life look so “easy”? Anger is messy, but it’s human. The trick is not to let it dry on the canvas without bringing it to God — otherwise, it just muddies everything.

Stage 4: Bargaining

“If I just do this, then maybe things will change.”

I’ve caught myself making bargains with God: If I pray harder, if I check all the boxes, then You’ll answer my prayer, right? Maybe you’ve done the same with your health, career, or family. Bargaining is basically standing over the canvas, trying to “fix it” by piling on more paint. And like clumpy paint, it rarely works.

Stage 5: Depression

“Maybe this is just my life now.”

This stage feels heavy. For me, it’s the loneliness of a Saturday night at home, or the sting of being the “extra” in a group of couples. For others, it’s clocking in for a job that drains you or making the bare-minimum payment on debt that never seems to shrink. Depression whispers that things will never get better. It’s that moment you stare at the canvas and think, This painting is ruined.

Stage 6: Testing

“What can I do differently to move forward?”

Testing is when a spark of hope sneaks back in. For me, that looked like finding joy in other things like starting a book club, loving on my friends' kids, and leaning into the friendships God already placed into my life. It’s not the picture I imagined, but it’s still meaningful. Testing is experimenting with joy — picking up a different brush, trying a new color, and realizing, Oh. That actually works.

Stage 7: Acceptance

“My life can still be beautiful, even if it looks different.”

Acceptance doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hoping. It just means I’m not putting my entire life on pause until that one dream comes true. It’s learning to hold both longing and gratitude at the same time. That might look like grieving the kids you thought you’d have but loving your role as an aunt, uncle, or teacher. Or wanting the dream job but still being grateful for the stability you’ve built. Acceptance is stepping back from the canvas, finally seeing that — even with all the “happy little accidents” — it’s still a work of art.

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If your life doesn’t look like the picture you had hoped to paint, you’re not alone. There’s real grief in letting that picture go. But grief doesn't have to be the whole story. If you lean into God, you'll start to see new colors and textures show up that look like unexpected joys.

So, keep showing up. Pick up the brush. Channel your inner Bob Ross and paint those happy little trees — even if your forest looks different than you planned.