I Used to Think I Was Failing at Life Because I Wasn’t Always Happy
You ever watch one of those movies where everyone’s smiling, laughing, singing in the rain, and just radiating happiness? I used to think that’s what life was supposed to be like. That if I wasn’t constantly glowing with joy like the people in those shows, I was somehow doing something wrong.
Sure, I had happy moments, the kind that fill you up with warmth and light, where you can’t help but grin until your cheeks hurt. But those feelings never lasted. They would fade, and when they did, I’d sit there asking myself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stay happy?”
And for me, having DID added another layer to that struggle. My persecutor could be brutally cruel, whispering all the reasons I was failing, all the things that were wrong with me. (That’s probably a story for another day, but it definitely played a part in how I saw myself.)
When I started with my new therapist, I told her how I felt broken, how I couldn’t seem to hold onto happiness no matter how hard I tried. I’ll never forget what she said:
“No one is happy all the time. Happiness comes and goes, it is meant to. The real goal is to be content. If you can find contentment most days, you’re doing it right.
That completely changed me. Like, wow. It made sense in a way nothing else had before.
So I started looking at my life differently. I sat with those words, let them settle, and started noticing the places where I actually was content. I realized I was content with my romantic relationships, my vanilla ones, my M/s dynamics, my friendships, and my Leather family. I wasn’t failing. I was already doing what she said, living in a space of quiet, steady contentment.
It has been almost three years since that conversation, and I still think about it often. I still have bad days, really bad days, especially when seasonal depression hits. I still get sad, cry, get angry, or feel overwhelmed. But now I see that those moments don’t erase my contentment. They just remind me that I’m human.
Taking care of my parents, who both have dementia, is one of the hardest parts of my life right now. It is not something that brings me contentment most of the time, it is exhausting, it hurts, and it takes a lot out of me. But when they have those rare lucid moments, when they smile or remember something small, that brings me real, pure happiness. And for a little while, I feel light again.
Even within my DID system, I think most of us are content. There isn’t this constant inner war anymore, just a kind of quiet balance. Not perfect, not always peaceful, but manageable.
So maybe life isn’t supposed to be that constant rom com sparkle. Maybe it is supposed to be made up of gentle, steady days, sprinkled with bursts of happiness when the stars align just right. And maybe that’s enough. Actually, I think it is enough.
I’d love to hear what others think, though.
Do you believe that’s how life really is?
Do you think we should still be chasing that “dancing in the streets” kind of happiness every moment of every day?
Either way, I’m sitting here tonight, breathing, grounded, surrounded by people I love, my Masters, my Leather family in the House of Koch, my friends, and I feel it again. That quiet, steady, beautiful thing called contentment.