I remember vividly walking through the house feeling excitement bubbling inside of me. It was perfect and I loved it. It made me happy, it would make me happy, I would love it. And I did.
Almost two years later, I sold the home that I loved and moved into a new home with someone whom I thought I would love forever. As we walked through the house on the first showing I knew that it would make me happy, I knew that I would love it…. And I did.
Almost two years later, I realized that I had been silly. No physical item could ever make me happy. It was a distraction, one that I was seeking desperately to avoid looking at my wounds. It was easier to think that external items, experiences, people, things, would make me happy. The physical items and the people whom I sought would never make me happy, how could they? I needed to find happiness within myself. The process wasn’t smooth or easy. The process wasn’t pretty. The process involved mediation, running, crying, water, and looking at myself straight on. The process was worth everything, literally everything. Finding myself, loving myself, healing myself and finding happiness was worth everything. I felt vividly as I sunk into myself, the excitement bubbling inside of me. I am perfect, I love me, I make me happy.
