I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and I’ve realised something that feels quite hard to admit out loud… I don’t think I’m actually a happy person.
It’s not that my life is bad. I have two lovely kids and a good, supportive husband. On paper, everything looks as it should. And I do have moments where I laugh or feel okay, even happy for a bit. But it never seems to last, and it never feels deep or settled. It’s more like passing moments rather than something I carry inside me.
I also find myself feeling envious of people who seem genuinely happy. I’ll look at friends or even family and they just seem so content in a way I can’t relate to. And I often think they’d be really shocked if they knew I felt like this, because from the outside I probably seem fine too.
The strange part is, I don’t think I even know what real, consistent happiness feels like. The last time I remember feeling genuinely carefree and properly happy was when I was about 19. Since then, life has just felt… heavier, I suppose. More like I’m getting through things rather than really enjoying them.
I don’t know if this is normal, or if other people feel like this and just don’t say it. Maybe I’ve just lost something along the way, or maybe I never really had it in the first place in the way others seem to.
I’m not even sure what I’m asking, to be honest. I think I just needed to say it somewhere and see if anyone else understands this feeling.