I've spent my life being the helper.

Always the expert. Always achieving. Always doing, because somewhere along the way I learned that being useful was how you earned love.

I've realised I don't know what I actually enjoy.

I'm in that right now. And it's the most uncomfortable and honest place I've ever been.
The drive has gone. Not dipped, gone. And I can't go back onto the wheel because I can finally see it for what it is. A fake life. The trade offs no longer work.

What I'm left with is an emptiness.

It feels so alien to not strive, not be constantly doing in order to be seen as special or to be someone.

I don't know what I enjoy and I now have to wait to feel what that actually feels like.
A driven life without enjoyment is a prison, a hellish hamster wheel. It took me a while to see that truth and now I cannot unsee it.

Yesterday I danced to some old tracks by the pool. I went for a walk in the beautiful countryside which filled my senses so fully. Most of what I do right now is nothing.

I'm just fully present.

Maybe that's where it starts.