The Fine Art of Making Life Hard on Yourself

I’ve gone years thinking that things need to be hard to be appreciated. You work hard and you get what you want. What if I’m tired of working hard? Like, really, really tired.

Years ago, one of my bosses looked me right in the eye and said “You’re a hard worker, I just don’t like you.” Harsh, right?

I walked right past the “I just don’t like you” comment because I honestly didn’t like her either. She was materialistic, elitist, and felt she was better than everyone. We were oil and water. The “You’re a hard worker” filled me with pride, though. Her weird back handed comment was enough to reassure me that hard work is what matters.

Since I was a child I was told that I needed to work hard. That things needed to be tough in order for me to really appreciate them. That real success was from hard work. If I worked hard, I would get what I wanted in life.

Looking back, the majority of my life has been hard work. Childhood – hard work. Career – hard work. Post secondary – hard work. Marriage – hard work. Parenting – hard work. Divorce – hard work.

So now that everything is lining up easily with my move – house sold, found a place, found a way to sell and give away our stuff, found a way to move things, I’m making things hard. Sounds ridiculous, but when things go easy, I have a tendency to make them harder.

Things need to be tough in order to really appreciate them. 

It’s bullshit. Instead of loving the ease of my life right now and knowing I’m on the right path, I’m putting blocks up. In the past couple of days I’ve second guessed how I’m moving our stuff, being able to drive my Scion while I’m on the Island, childcare for Azalee, and even the date we’re leaving.

Because what would make more sense than going over 10 ways to move my stuff yet again, buying a new vehicle for the sake of towing our small amount of stuff or being scared of a snow storm in a year, paying $800 for 8 days of childcare, and messing with my entire plan?

As a child of abuse and a survivor of domestic violence by an intimate partner over a long period of time, I’ve become the girl who waits for hardship to knock on the door. Constantly in fight or flight, planning for the worst case scenario and hoping for (but not really believing) something good.

You know what? I’m tired of it. Literally fucking tired. I don’t want this to be the narrative of my life anymore. I want to work smart. I want to ask for help when I need it. I want to switch from a life of hardship to one with ease. I want to believe that great things are always around the corner. I want to know I’m safe, loved, and supported as I follow my heart, my dreams, and my new career paths (more on this later).

So, I’m making another leap. One in which I take the time to heal myself through the grief and pain I’ve been carrying with me and bring it to a place of release and forgiveness.

Healer heal thyself.

When I think of living on the Island, I visualize my home as being a castle and the water surrounding the Island as a moat. I get to decide who to put the drawbridge down for and well, I’m leaving this pain, guilt, and belief that things need to be hard to be worth it on the other side. My old boss isn’t getting an invitation over the moat either. Sorry, Vancouver.

Bravely Reigning Forward!



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