For a lot of reasons. There's the physical tired of constant, as-yet-unexplained illness. There's the emotional tired of grief sneak-attacks because things don't magically get all the way better just because a whole year has passed since Dad died. And there's the mental tired of trying to do all the things for all the people and half-wishing to be back in high school when nobody liked or needed me.
And yet I'm happy. Because life is crazy awesome bonkers like that sometimes.
Because I took some time off from trying to be everything for everybody and did some stuff just for me for a while.
Because I'm writing again, and words are air that certain parts of me suffocate without.
Because I'm only giving time to the people I matter to.
Because I'm being firm and telling doctors what I want them to do for me instead of just hoping they will.
Because I'm learning that our value isn't rooted in what we do, but in who we are, and that I don't lose worth when my body won't let me do the things I want to be doing.
Because I'm loved by some super amazing people.
Because of four incredible little girls who drive me happy as often as they drive me insane.
Because of friends. The genuine kind.
Because of how reading stories makes everything better somehow.
Because I'm awesome. And because you probably already knew that.
Sometimes Happy likes to play and hide and seek with us. Sometimes we have to look extra hard to find it.