I poured my coffee while Bodhi chomped away at his kibble (tied to the fridge so he doesn’t chase the cats).
On the other side of the kitchen, said furs were breakfasting on Sheba treats (because they require a little bribery to get them in the kitchen these days).
I sat at the table, listening to them all masticate and watching the morning light dance across the cupboard doors.
And my eyes properly welled up.
I felt that surge of teary-joy that always makes my face leak. Because even though breakfast has taken on a zoo-like quality of late, I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.
A day of writing stretched out before me, with a walk in the woods with the pooch planned for later. The rest of the week filled with coaching clients.
I had spent Saturday at Blogtacular being utterly inspired by the love and generosity of a few hundred women. I led a workshop about self-doubt and creativity – and we talked about how self-doubt has absolutely nothing to do with your talent, capabilities or level of success, and everything to do with protecting yourself.
I’ve been to so many conferences where everyone is encased in networking armour with their game face on; all you hear are elevator pitches. Blogtacular had not been that. We were vulnerable together – sharing fears, doubts and confusions with a massive dose of humour.
It hit me as I was sitting at the table in our sunny little kitchen; my life now is exactly what I used to dream about.
And if someone had said to me half a dozen years ago, that this would be my life, I would have rolled my eyes and engaged in some heavily judgemental thoughts.
Because my self-doubt showed up as over-delivery, I was constantly achieving, working and producing in order to receive validation – in praise or pay – and my need was bottomless. The stress of it gave me an iron-clad excuse for all that drinking.
I never allowed myself a moment’s stillness because I had no idea who I would be without my job. I was terrified of what it would mean to leave that status and success.
When I was so depleted and defenceless against the truth, it took a few moments of utter realness to quietly admit to myself that I need to get sober and I didn’t know what else I wanted, just ‘not this’.
That was enough to start dreaming my way to this life.
It took SO MUCH longer than I wanted (and the internet promised me) and it did not happen even closely in a straight line. I lost everything I was told equalled success in adulthood.
I gained everything I didn’t know I needed.
All it took was a few thousand tiny, doable steps.
Where will you be three years from today? What will your day look like? Who will you be spending time with? What will you be excited about? What will you be working on three years from today?