The first time I remember really suspecting that something might be a little off in my brain was when I was living in England. We were newly-ish married, I was working a job I enjoyed and we had very few responsibilities. We were moving our way along the path to moving back to the US, had great friends and a cute house and really nothing to complain about. But I specifically recall a Saturday that Chris was playing rugby away and I'd opted not to go. I was walking back home from the library, had new books to read, the sun was shining and yet. I just didn't feel happy. I remember wondering WHY I didn't feel happy. I worried that I was somehow unable to be contented, that I wasn't properly grateful for all the good in my life.
I thought about this the other day because right now? I am so happy. I feel a level of contentment that I wasn't sure I'd ever achieve. I'm happy and satisfied being at home with Archer, with the efforts I make on a daily basis to nurture and help my kids grow and to be a good counterbalance for Chris. There are multiple times every week that I feel close to euphoric with the sense that weights have lifted, that I have settled into a groove that feels good and right. I don't feel like good emotions are muted they way they have been in the past.
It's so easy to come and spill out across a page when things are bad; writing about hard things is therapeutic for me. But part of what I want this blog to be is a piece of my and our history for my kids to look back at and maybe one day help them in some way. So I'm reminding myself that it's important to document the good, too. I do not cherish every single moment of every single day of this life I'm currently living, but I want to make an effort to balance it out a little more.
So. I'm happy. Very, very happy.