Are you brave enough to be happy?

I woke up this morning, looked at the beautiful man beside me, and thought, it doesn’t get much happier than this.

Gratitude

I’ve been doing the gratitude thing this year and there’s NO DOUBT it’s making me happier, kinder, less sweating the small stuff.

That’s absolutely one big reason I’m feeling so happy.

Being brave

But a really big reason I’m feeling so happy is that I have a good life. A life I worked damn hard to build myself.

A life I had to be fucking brave to get, over and over again.

I had to be brave enough to leave my first husband when he said he didn’t love me, and brave enough to keep living when he drowned soon after.

I had to be brave enough to leave my second husband and commit to being a single mother for all those years.

I had to be brave enough to be alone.

I had to be brave enough to build a house at home on our island so my children and wider whānau have a place to come home to. And so that while I work so hard on my business all year, I get a summer in paradise recharging, reconnecting, and reprioritising.

I had to be brave enough to walk away from my religion. The only worldview and culture I knew, so I could truly be me. And so I could be loved. And so I could feel the sun on my skin.

I had to be brave enough to admit what I wanted.

I had to be brave enough to resist when carver boy wanted to break things off. Brave enough to persist in our relationship. Brave enough (and patient enough) to wait four years for him to move in. Brave enough to risk another broken heart.

I had to be brave enough to say no to things that were tempting, but not right or good for me.

I had to be brave enough to set boundaries around my time and my contributions to others.

I had to be brave enough to charge what I’m worth.

I had to be brave enough to love and back myself.

It took a while, but I turned 45 this year, and I’m proud to say I’m brave enough to be happy.

Are you?