If you were to look at my life from the outside it would seem picture-perfect. I’ve a loving husband, three great teenage children and a successful career. The trouble is I feel dead inside - nothing seems to make me truly deeply happy. I know I should be grateful for all I have but I can’t shake off the empty feeling. Sometimes I fantasise about leaving all the pressure and expectations behind and moving to the south of Spain.
The problem with pictures is that they capture a minuscule moment. They cannot possibly reflect our messy, nuanced existence. We then sieve through these picture moments, adeptly deleting the ones that are less than perfect, curating a life to be shared with the outside world. The trouble is that the grit, the hard work that goes into achieving all you have achieved gets quickly deleted too. Yet the tough, often murky experiences are what add richness to so much of our lives.
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