For me, it used to be simple things – good coffee, soft blankets, the smell of fresh air through an open window. But life has a way of stripping you down to your essentials, especially when you become a carer.
When looking after my dad, so many things I thought were luxuries just fell away. Nights out, sleep-ins, spontaneous road trips – gone. I learned to live without them. I learned to live without my old routines, without my independence, without the little indulgences I once clung to.
But what I never stopped craving, what I realized was my greatest luxury, was freedom. The freedom to wake up and decide what my day would look like. The freedom to move, to rest, to be. The freedom to follow a sudden urge to watch the sunrise by the water or stay up too late writing nonsense in a notebook.
Freedom isn’t something you notice until it’s gone. It’s not flashy. It doesn’t come in a box with a ribbon. It’s quiet, and it’s sacred.
And now that I’ve felt the weight of its absence, I know – I can live without a lot, but not without freedom.
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