My life is not perfect.
But it is a life I have chosen, one I’ve worked hard to achieve and one I wouldn’t change for the world.
It is a life full of laughter, love and small joys; plastic dinosaurs, egg mayonnaise sandwiches and ludo marathons; spools of thread, inherited furniture and scraps of flowery fabric.
A life where I can watch my beloved little boy grow up, walk him to the local school in the morning and discuss his day and his childish fantasies over fish fingers every evening.
I’m not going to deny there have been sacrifices; it has been 9 years since my last holiday in sun soaked Florence, the majority of the possessions in our cosy, tiny home are second-hand and I have become an expert thrifter and skilled budget spinner after growing up not having to worry about money at all.
But to me it is more than worth it.
I have used a traditional skill taught to me as a child and my quick, nimble fingers to build up a little business that supports us from my chalky white dining room table. I regularly write through the night until one of my eyelids starts flickering its familiar little twitchy dance. I barter with friends; graphic designing for eyelashes and leg waxes, babysitting for marketing advice, sewing school name labels into tiny grey socks for help with keeping my business books.
I know there are people in my life who think that my choices are a waste of my mind, a waste of my degrees, a waste of my potential. That raising a child and working at home is somehow not as meaningful or useful as getting a proper job. That I am somehow hurting my son because I cannot afford to give him everything he wants, sky television and an annual summer holiday abroad.
But I struggle to see it that way.
I believe I am using everything I have and everything I am to do the most important job in the world.
Because life is about choices…
and this is mine.