From the outside, it looked like I'd rebuilt my life.
I had a successful business.
Friends.
Holidays.
The gym.
A diary so full there wasn't room to breathe.
People would often tell me how well I was doing.
And, in many ways...
they were right.
After Luke died, I'd slowly begun saying yes to life again.
I'd gone to Margate.
I'd travelled.
Gail had become one of my closest friends and together we'd explored places I'd only ever dreamed of seeing.
Australia.
City breaks.
Days out.
Meals.
Laughter.
For the first time in a long time, I was making memories again.
Those moments were real.
I don't regret them for a second.
But somewhere amongst all the living...
something quietly changed.
I threw myself into building my home staging business.
Most mornings started at five or six o'clock.
Property visits.
Meetings.
Phone calls.
Quotations.
Endless admin.
Even weekends were spent in front of the computer.
The Busy Years
The gym slowly moved further and further down my list of priorities.
Life became one long to-do list.
Looking back now...
it felt like I'd jumped onto a runaway train with no destination.
Or like doing a rolly-polly down a hill that never stopped.
I wasn't choosing where I was going anymore.
I was simply trying to keep up.
The strange thing was...
I didn't realise it at the time.
I genuinely believed I was living again.
I wasn't pretending.
I wasn't trying to fool anyone.
I honestly thought this was what rebuilding looked like.
But there was one thing I'd quietly stopped doing.
I'd stopped being still.
I never gave myself the silence to ask how I was really feeling.
I just kept moving.
Looking back, I think that's why I also found myself drinking more than I ever had before.
Not every day.
Not because I was unhappy.
But when I went out, I drank far more than I needed to.
At the time, I thought I was simply enjoying myself.
Now I realise it also meant I never really had to sit with myself.
Movement became my comfort.
Noise became my distraction.
Busy became normal.
Perhaps the biggest regret I carry from those years isn't the business.
It isn't the long hours.
It's that when my second grandson was born, I wasn't as present as I wish I'd been.
I saw him.
I loved him.
But I was always rushing to the next meeting, the next phone call or the next job.
I can't change that now.
But I can learn from it.
People often ask whether I regret those years.
The truth is...
no.
Those years gave me confidence.
They gave me friendships that I'll treasure forever.
They gave me experiences I'll never forget.
They taught me I was capable of rebuilding a life after unimaginable loss.
But they also taught me something else.
Being busy isn't the same as living.
You can fill every hour of your diary...
and still lose sight of yourself.
I thought I was rebuilding my life.
In reality...
I'd simply become too busy to notice I'd drifted away from the promise I'd once made myself.
And sometimes...
that's exactly how life happens.
Not all at once.
Quietly.
One meeting.
One phone call.
One busy week at a time.
Until one day...
you finally stop long enough to hear yourself again.