I was wrong

I’ve had the best day by myself. I was cocooned in my introverted bliss for most of the morning and most of the afternoon.

I did what I set out to do… had a haircut, blogged, went to the cinema, did some exercise, read, ate, treated myself to some new mascara – my old one getting the boot because of wearing it when I came down with conjunctivitis and sinusitis earlier this week.

And during the day I had plenty of time to think…and my pondering led to me a few things I’ve been thinking about for a while and to the realisation about an area where I’ve been getting it wrong in life.

What is it, you ask?

Money.

Some of you may remember that I’ve vowed to not buy anything unneeded for twelve months (a vow I have broken twice and regretted twice – perhaps a blog on that later).

Although I said I could spend money on experiences, this didn’t stretch in my mind to spending money on my own wellbeing.

I’ve had no problem stocking myself up with goodies to eat, trips to cafes, yummy additions to my lunch at work.

And I’ve done things that were essential to me functioning – a massage when my shoulders and neck were locked up from sling wearing a hefty 13 month old, for example.

But I have almost felt a lack of self-permission to spend money on things that weren’t essential but would support my wellbeing.

It could be anything – paying for a ukulele class, a trip to the theatre, but most specifically for me at the moment, paying for a regular exercise class.

It seemed frivolous to spend £20 a month on a gym membership or £8 for an exercise class, but that would have been so good over these past months – having a class to allow myself to let off some steam and exert myself physically.

This thought has been brewing for a while, I just wasn’t aware of it until now. It started forming when I was laid in bed sick earlier this week.

My mind drifted to how much pressure I put on myself at work, compressing almost a full working week into 4 days in order to save – for the future, for Jenson, to pay off our mortgage early and then this thought hit me –

What’s the point of working so damn hard, packing so much work into my week so that we’re not financially strapped for cash, if I don’t live life?

Sure, it’s so that we can have holidays. It’s so we can save for the future. It’s so we can afford to run a car if we need one for our jobs.

But I know there’s an imbalance with how I currently use my spending money and I want that to stop.

I want greater wellbeing.

I want to feel like I’m living, not just functioning.

I want more fun.

So by writing this post, I publicly give myself permission to invest in my own wellbeing.

I’m stating that investing in activities to make me glow (ok, more like sweat like a pig!) is important.

And to kick this off, I’ve subscribed to MoveGB, an app which allows me to go to a class a week in a variety of locations for £28/month (there’s a free 10 day trial you can do and a £1/week membership if you’re interested, don’t mind going to a lot of different classes but are on a budget).

And since I’m paying for this app, I know I’ll hold myself accountable to get out there and attend a class (or more!) each week.

It feels right, good, bloody brilliant to give myself permission to invest in my own wellbeing.

And so my parting question for you is this: what do you need to give yourself permission to do, dear friend?

One thought on “I was wrong

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