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A Note On Feeling Content In Your Life

On Feeling Content In Your Life

I’m sitting here, on my sofa, with the window wide open. The washing machine is doing it’s thing in the kitchen, the dogs are sleeping on the sofa and the stairs. And all I can think, is how content I feel with my life right now. 

For a long time, most of my adult life probably, I’ve always had this feeling that there’s something missing. Something I should be striving for, the next thing to tick off the never ending “once this happens, my life will be better” list. 

Nothing was ever enough, not my life and certainly not me. 

Comparison is a bitch. 

At the start of last year, it was like a light switch went on in my body. Everything that mattered came into focus, and everything else faded out of view.

Suddenly, all I wanted, was what I’d always had. 

I realised I don’t need ‘stuff’ to make me happy. I don’t need money to make my life better. I have exactly what I need right here, right now. It’s like a wave of calmness has washed over my entire life and swept away all the crap that was clouding my vision

I’ve always stopped myself from saying out loud, I’m happy, in case I jinxed it. Keeping it locked inside, squirrelled away for no one to know. What’s the point in happiness if you can’t share it? 

I am enough. This is enough. This life is more than enough, it’s everything I ever wanted and more. I’m going to relish it, for every second that it lasts. And when the shit hits the fan, which it inevitably will, I’ll know that it’s just a phase, and I’ll get through it, because I’ve got through more than I ever thought I could. 

There will be days when I hate my reflection, or when I stress about not having enough money to go on holiday when the world seems to be on their second. When my teenager is driving me insane, or my 9 year old is mid temper rage in public. 

Those days are part of life.

Will being on a diet make me happy? Will dropping a dress size change anything in my life other than a label in my clothes? Will it fuck.

Will we eventually go on a holiday and cherish every.single.second because we’ve worked our arses off for it? Yes we fucking will. 

Do I give an ounce of a crap what anyone else is doing in their lives? No. Not anymore. 

You only get one life, it’s yours to live it exactly how you chose to, with who you chose and you don’t need to explain it to anyone. 

I couldn’t be more grateful for the bad times, because, without them, how would I know how beautiful feeling content is? 



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