How Are You Always Happy?

You know what’s weird? Lately the question I keep getting asked is, “How are you always so happy?” And honestly… I never know how to answer it because half the time I’m over here wondering if I’ll ever be good enough. Pretty enough. Smart enough. Successful enough. It’s wild how people can look at the same person and see something completely different than what that person sees in the mirror.

Then I get, “Is that your boyfriend or your brother?” 😂 Umm… neither. That’s my son. Apparently having a 21-year-old when you’re in your 40s really confuses people.

Then it’s, “I wish I had your muscles.” “You look so good for your age.” “Wait… you’re really in your 40s?” Even my PT and chiropractor have told me they’ve never seen someone my age build muscle and heal this quickly. I appreciate every compliment, I really do, but they don’t hear the conversation going on inside my head. The one that still asks, “Will I ever be enough?”

I’ve got guys asking me to dinner, asking me to go hiking, ride motorcycles, ride around in fancy cars, go work out at the gym… and somehow my brain still convinces me that if I wasn’t enough for the one, how could I possibly be enough for anyone else? I know that probably doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, but trauma doesn’t always make sense. I’m loyal to a fault. I don’t really see relationships the way the world seems to anymore, and because of that I sometimes carry around a heaviness that nobody else can see.

What people don’t notice is how damn hard I’ve worked to become this version of myself. They see the body. They see the muscles. They see the tattoos. They see the car. They see me laughing and smiling. They don’t see everything I had to rise above. They don’t see the years of rebuilding. They don’t see the sacrifices or the hard choices. They don’t see all the times people called me crazy, nuts, or flat-out dumb for choosing the harder road. I chose the hard in my 20s. I chose the hard again in my 30s. Now I’m in my 40s and it’s finally starting to pay off.

Then people tell me they’re jealous of where I’m at, and honestly… I’ve never understood jealousy. I really haven’t. When I see someone with something I want, I don’t think, “Why them?” I think, “How’d you do that?” Then I ask questions, I learn, and I go figure it out. That’s how I’ve always been. I don’t want someone else’s life. I want to build my own. So when people tell me they’re jealous, part of me wants to laugh and say, “Wait a minute… I took the risk. I bet on myself when everyone else thought I was crazy. I went back to school over and over again. I worked weekends. I sacrificed sleep. I invested in myself when there wasn’t a guarantee any of it would ever work.” You’re seeing the harvest. You didn’t see me planting the seeds.

People ask me how I can afford nice dinners or a tattoo from an elite artist. The answer is pretty simple. I budget for it. That’s what I choose to spend my money on. I don’t wear expensive clothes. Most days you’ll find me in jeans and a T-shirt. Now shoes… that’s another story. 😂 And yes, I love my Range Rover. We all choose where our money goes. Those just happen to be some of my choices.

The other day someone asked my mom what she’s most proud of me for. Her first answer was, “Her looks.” I’m not gonna lie… my heart sank. I remember thinking, “Are you fucking kidding me?” After everything I’ve fought through, that’s what comes to mind first? Then she kept talking. She said, “I gave birth to this amazing woman. She does whatever she sets her mind to, and she’s kind and forgiving to everyone.” That one stopped me in my tracks because I realized my trauma had already finished her sentence before she even got the chance. Isn’t that weird? Sometimes we hear one sentence and our old wounds write the rest of the story before anyone else gets to.

I think people also think there’s some big secret to all of this. There isn’t. I look like this because I choose to take care of myself. If my body hurts, I do something about it. If money gets tight, I figure it out. If I have to work three jobs, I’ll work three jobs. If my body is telling me to rest, I disappear and I rest. I’ve learned that my body always tells me the truth if I’m willing to listen.

And the funniest part? That intuition people ask me about now… the intuition people want me to teach them… is the same intuition I was told was wrong when I was younger. The same intuition I was told would get me into trouble. Now it’s one of the things people admire the most. Life has a funny way of coming full circle.

Then I started thinking about something my grandpa always used to tell me. He’d say, “You have to truly love yourself before you can love anyone else.” And he’d always say, “Pay yourself first before you pay your bills.” I swear it took me until I turned 40 to understand what he meant.

I used to think paying yourself first was about money. Now I realize it’s about so much more. It’s taking care of your body before it’s screaming at you. It’s protecting your peace. It’s resting without feeling guilty. It’s investing in yourself. It’s setting boundaries. It’s looking in the mirror and saying, “Yep… I’ve still got some shit to work on,” without tearing yourself apart.

Because loving yourself isn’t thinking you’re perfect. It’s loving all of you. The healed parts. The messy parts. The strong parts. The scared parts. The little girl who just wanted to be enough. The woman who kept getting back up anyway.

So maybe when people ask me how I’m always so happy… maybe they’re asking the wrong question.

Maybe the better question is, “How did you learn to keep choosing yourself?”

Because that’s really been the answer all along.

And as for the rest of it… who knows. Maybe someday I’ll end up with the man I love. Or maybe it’ll always be an illusion. But then again… maybe that’s the weird shit too. Sometimes you have to be a little delusional before your reality has a chance to catch up. Sometimes what everyone else calls an illusion is simply a dream that hasn’t happened yet.

So until then, I’ll keep taking care of myself. I’ll keep betting on myself. I’ll keep working hard. I’ll keep resting when I need to. I’ll keep loving people. I’ll keep chasing the life I know is possible, even if nobody else can see it yet.

After all… every single thing I have today was once called crazy by someone else.

And that’s some weird shit.