I’d like to say gratitude, and honestly, most days, that’s the truth. I can be in the middle of washing dishes, and suddenly I’m grateful for the smell of fresh bread drifting from the oven, or for a friend’s child laughing so hard they hiccup. Gratitude’s like that, it sneaks up on you in the smallest, quietest ways, and makes you feel like the universe has just sent you a little “thinking of you” card.
But then… there’s family drama. Ah, yes, the ancient sport. Nothing like one phone call or visit (via a neighbor) to take gratitude, shove it into a dusty broom cupboard, and let frustration swagger in with its muddy boots. Somehow, I end up right in the middle of it, like I’ve been cast in a bad soap opera where Bully plays the leading role. You know the type: loud, puffed-up, and convinced the whole plot revolves around him.
It’s a lot like walking down a peaceful country lane, breathing in the fresh air, when suddenly Bully comes rattling up behind you on his brand-new tractor (paid for, of course, with someone else’s kindness), blasting fumes and family history all over the hedgerows.
Still, gratitude’s a stubborn little thing. It always limps back in, clutching its tea and looking like it’s just survived a storm, but smiling anyway. It reminds me that there are sunsets so pretty they make you forget the noise. There are belly laughs with people who actually get you. There are moments where I know, without doubt, that this chaos is temporary and I’m still steering my own ship.
So yes, gratitude wins in the end. But around here, it has learned to fight dirty… and it keeps its teacup close, in case Bully comes round again.
Mae🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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