what if i don't want to struggle for a good life?

peace isn’t a prize, it’s my choice.

I’ve grown up in cities. Big ones—bustling capitals across the world. Places where life doesn’t stop. Where people move with purpose, and everything hums with urgency. Where even silence feels temporary, like the moment before the next wave of noise crashes in. The chaos, the pace, the overstimulation, that’s my familiar. That’s what shaped me.

The high stress, the tight schedules, the ambition, it taught me how to survive. How to adapt. How to read a room, keep up, stay alert. And for a long time, I believed that’s where I belonged. In the thick of it. In the hustle. In the intensity of it all.

And truthfully, sometimes I still think I do. The city has an energy that’s addictive. It makes you feel like something could happen at any moment, like you might miss out if you dare to rest. There’s a part of me that feeds off that buzz. I like being in the mix, where it all feels alive.

But lately, I’ve started to question whether that aliveness is actually sustainable. Or even real.

More and more, I find myself craving something softer. Simpler. I think about stillness. About clean air. About a home with light pouring in. A garden, a kitchen full of herbs, a breeze that smells like salt. I imagine slow mornings, hands in soil, fresh fruit, the sound of birds. A place where I can exhale. Where I can actually be.

My Dream Life, as per my Pinterest, where capitalism fails to reach…

It sounds romantic, and maybe it is. But it’s not fantasy. It’s something deeper than that. It’s my body asking for peace. It’s my nervous system begging for relief. It’s a whisper that’s getting louder: you weren’t made to live in survival mode forever.

And yet, when I find myself in quiet places, they feel foreign. Almost too soft. Too still. As much as they soothe me, they also unsettle me. Because I’ve never known what it means to truly feel safe. My body doesn’t fully trust the calm yet. Stillness feels like absence when all you’ve known is noise.

So what do I do?

This is where I’m stuck. Caught between the life I’ve always known, and the one I’m starting to want. Do I need to earn my rest? Do I have to prove myself first, achieve something impressive, climb some invisible ladder, before I get to live gently? Is peace a prize I only get after I’ve suffered enough?

We’re raised to believe that it is. That real success only comes through burnout, self-denial, and pushing past our limits. That a good life is something you buy with your exhaustion. As if joy is indulgent. As if rest is lazy. As if ease must be justified.

Even the idea of a “simple life” gets packaged as a luxury. Like it’s only for those who’ve already made their money and name. Like it’s not something you can start with, but something you earn your way into. But what if I don’t want to wait until I’m tired and grey to feel at home in my life?

I don’t want a life built on performance. I don’t want to constantly prove my worth through productivity or compete for approval I never asked for. I don’t want to move through the world always bracing, always stretching, always aching to belong.

Ily Pinterest <3

I want a life that feels good to live. That’s rooted and meaningful, not just efficient. I want to create from a place of presence, not depletion. I want work that matters, but not at the expense of my health, my spirit, my relationships.

I still want to explore. To travel. To learn from people, cultures, the earth. I want adventure, depth, discovery. There’s a fire in me. But I also know that fire can’t burn constantly without burning me out. I’m tired of living on the edge of burnout just to prove I’m ambitious.

So what do I do?

I think I start by questioning the rules I’ve been living by. Who decided peace had to be earned? Who told us that joy only counts if we’ve suffered for it? Who made struggle the standard?

Maybe I’m not meant to follow that path. Maybe I don’t want to wait for permission to live the way I long to live. I am an Aquarius after all 😉

I want to build something honest. Something slow and true. I want to care about what I create. I want to be present for the process, not just rush to the end. I want to wake up and feel safe in my own body. I want to trust that I’m allowed to enjoy my life…not someday, but now.

No, I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still in the in-between. Still unlearning. Still navigating the guilt that comes with choosing rest when I was raised to glorify the grind.

But I know this much:

I don’t want to be admired for how much I can endure.

I want to be known for how deeply I can live.

And maybe the real beginning is trusting, feeling, knowing, that peace isn’t a reward—it’s a right.

🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️‍🔥🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️‍🔥🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️‍🔥🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️‍🔥

Until my next inspiration,

Kamilla 🪽🪷✨

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This essay was inspired by Pam Anderson’s cookbook. I just love her!

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