Why Are We Never Allowed To Be Proud?

This is late. Again. I know, I’m the worst. I’m also massively procrastinating because I told myself I’d go out for a run this afternoon BUT I HAVE TO GET EVERYTHING DONE FIRST, OKAY?!

I’m also not quite sure where this post is heading. I wrote the word ‘pride’ down in my notes app a few days ago, though, so let’s start there.

Pride is something we are made to feel like we shouldn’t have in ourselves. Especially women. We’re seemingly allowed to be proud of our friends, of our pets, our family members, but lord forbid we say we’re proud of our own damn selves. Even having other people proud of me makes me uncomfortable.

Last week, in a pub by Leith Premier Inn, my dad confessed how proud he was of me, and I tried everything to change the topic. It ended in a rant of how wrong he was because I am in fact a terrible human being.

When did that become a thing?

“Thanks, Dad,” would have been a far better response. Would have taken loads less time too. Because I did really appreciate him saying that.

So then, let’s all get very uncomfortable now, because here it is…

I AM PROUD OF MYSELF.

Of course moving to (technically) another country without knowing anyone or having a job would be scary. Of course it would envelope me in a fog of my own making for a few days (weeks?). I’m still not fully out of the ‘what the bleeding fudge have I gone and done now?’ phase. However, I saw what I wanted, what I’ve wanted for a long time, and instead of talking about how great it would be IF it would magically happen, I MADE it happen.

Obviously, part of making this move possible was being able to spend a year (or two or three…) living with low rent at my parents house so I could save money, but this has in no way been easy. I nearly coped out of moving a few times.

Yet, I made the brilliant decision to share my half formed plans with a colleague back in the spring, so it held me accountable. We never spoke about my move in the abstract, as if it were a pipe dream unlikely to happen, but like it was a concrete plan.

How are you getting there?

Where will you live?

What’s the least you need to save for this to be possible?

I worked hard, saved hard, and jumped off the ledge of risk into a deep ocean of the unknown (dude, your novelist is showing…). AND I’M PROUD OF MYSELF.

There’s still a long, long way to go here. I’m still uncomfortable admitting pride, in fear it makes me look arrogant, and will continue saying things like “but I don’t have any income yet” or “this could fail, though, and I’ll be back at square one by Christmas” when anyone says I’m brave. And it’s true I do still need a job and a social circle and a doctor’s surgery but I definitely made the right choice.

My biggest fear has always been getting to old age and wondering what if.

Don’t wonder.

Jump in.

(Now I need to go for that run. Oh God.)

What have you done this week to make you feel proud?

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