She lives in Bliss

Perhaps it is because I am now in my “late 30s” (or approaching 40…), but I seem to be being asked a lot about my life choices of late.

It’s a question that often comes with the best of intentions, yet one that can still feel heavy — as though life is a checklist we’re all meant to complete in the same order. Marriage, children, mortgage, promotions. And if one of those boxes isn’t ticked, people can’t help but ask why.

The truth is, I’ve been reflecting on this a lot myself. About how different life looks from what I imagined in my teens and twenties, and how much gentler I’ve had to become with that reality. There’s a kind of quiet peace in acknowledging that your path might not mirror anyone else’s — but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

1. “Are You Sure You Don’t Want Children?”

It’s a question I’ve been asked more times than I can count. Sometimes gently, sometimes with genuine curiosity, and occasionally with that look of disbelief that says, “But surely you’ll change your mind?”

The reality is, having children is something that just hasn’t happened for me. There was no conscious decision not to. It’s simply how life has unfolded.

And honestly? I’m still figuring out how I feel about that.

There are moments where I feel a pang of something — not quite sadness, but a quiet wondering. What would that version of life have looked like? What kind of mother might I have been? And then, there are days where I feel complete, fulfilled, grounded in the life I do have — one that is rich in freedom, connection, and growth.

What I’ve come to realise is that peace doesn’t come from having all the answers. It comes from allowing life to be what it is, rather than what I thought it might be.

We often talk about motherhood as the ultimate expression of nurturing, but I believe that instinct can take many forms. You can nurture ideas, relationships, your community, your creativity, yourself. You can still hold love, patience, and care in abundance — they just flow into different places.

I’m learning to honour that. To make peace with what is, rather than dwell on what isn’t. To let my life feel whole, even without fitting the traditional shape of “complete.”

2. “Do You Think You’ll Get Married?”

Then there’s the marriage question. “So, when will you get married?”

It’s a fair one — I’ve always been someone who loves love. I believe in partnership, in building something meaningful together, in sharing life’s rhythms with someone who feels like home.

And yes, marriage might be something I may always want. But I’ve also been reflecting lately on what truly matters in a partnership.

Because when I strip away the expectations — the white dress, the vows, the photos on the mantel — what I really want is the kind of love that shows up every day. The kind that supports without condition, that laughs easily, that helps me become more myself.

If I already have that — if I have a loving partner who respects, supports, and grows with me — then what’s more important: the ceremony, or the connection?

Marriage to me is beautiful, but I no longer see it as the defining marker of success in love. Love itself is the goal — the genuine, consistent, kind kind. The one that feels safe and expansive, not performative or pressured.

There’s a quiet confidence in knowing what matters most to you, not just what’s expected of you.

3. “What’s Next?”

And then there’s the question that always seems to surface eventually:
“So… what’s next?”

It’s almost automatic, isn’t it? Once you’ve achieved one thing, people naturally wonder what you’re aiming for next — the next milestone, the next big step, the next version of “progress.”

I know most people mean it kindly. But I’ve started to notice how easily that question can make us feel like we’re never quite enough as we are. That the life we’re living right now is just a waiting room for the next big thing.

The truth is, I don’t always have an answer anymore — and I’m learning to see that as a good thing. Because the older I get, the more I realise that life isn’t a straight line. You can do everything “right,” and still find yourself in unexpected chapters. You can plan meticulously, make all the right moves, and yet life will still have its own rhythm.

So much of it is simply out of our control. Who you meet, when opportunities appear, when timing aligns — these things can’t be forced. You can put yourself out there, show up, be open, do the inner work… but ultimately, life unfolds on its own timeline.

And that’s both humbling and freeing. Because it means you don’t have to chase the illusion of control anymore. You can trust that what’s meant for you won’t pass you by — and that what doesn’t happen was never meant to hold you back.

I think part of the pressure also comes from the external standards we absorb — the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) expectations that come from family, friends, or society. Everyone has their own version of what a “complete” life looks like, and without realising it, we start measuring ourselves against those ideals.

But I’m learning that the real peace comes from turning inward — from asking myself what actually matters to me. What kind of life feels aligned? What brings me joy? What helps me sleep peacefully at night?

Because no one else lives my life. No one else carries my experiences, my dreams, my boundaries, or my truth. And when I focus on living up to my own standards, rather than the world’s, everything softens. The noise quiets. Life starts to feel more like mine.

Maybe “what’s next” doesn’t have to mean a major change, a new job, or a big announcement. Maybe it’s something smaller and softer — a deeper sense of contentment, a new layer of self-trust, a phase of stillness and appreciation.

Sometimes, “what’s next” is simply learning to love the life you’ve already built.

The Quiet Work of Making Peace

Each of these questions — about children, marriage, and “what’s next” — reflects the same deeper truth: that we are constantly measuring ourselves against timelines we didn’t write.

But life isn’t linear. It’s cyclical, organic, unpredictable. And perhaps the real work is learning to find peace in that rhythm — to trust the timing of your own becoming.

I’ve realised that making peace with your life doesn’t mean giving up on dreams. It means holding them lightly. It means saying, if it happens, beautiful; if it doesn’t, I’ll still find joy here.

That doesn’t make me less ambitious or less romantic — just more anchored.

Redefining “Having It All”

For a long time, “having it all” meant juggling everything: the relationship, the career, the home, the social life, the plans. But the more I grow, the more I realise that “having it all” looks different for everyone.

For some, it’s the bustling family home and a full schedule. For others, it’s peace, freedom, creativity, and quiet.

There’s no universal formula for fulfilment.

The beauty of getting older is that you begin to realise this — to see that life’s worth isn’t measured in milestones, but in moments that feel like truth.

Sometimes “having it all” simply means having what makes you feel alive — whatever that looks like.

Choosing to Live in Bliss

If I’ve learned anything through these questions, it’s that peace comes from alignment, not approval.

When I stop trying to explain or justify my choices, I make more space to enjoy them. When I stop chasing the version of life I thought I should have, I begin to see the beauty of the one I do have.

This, I think, is the essence of living in bliss — not perfection, not constant happiness, but gentle acceptance. A sense of gratitude for where you are, even as you remain open to what may come next.

It’s a reminder that our worth isn’t defined by whether we’ve followed the traditional script. It’s defined by how present, authentic, and kind we are within our own story.

A Life That’s Already Enough

So maybe the next time someone asks, “What’s next?” or “Are you sure?”, I’ll smile and say something simple:

“Right now, I’m enjoying being here.”

Because this — this stage, this space, this season — is part of the story too.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because the truth is, bliss isn’t found in the constant striving or ticking off boxes. It’s found in the quiet confidence that your life, as it stands, is already meaningful.

And that, I think, is something worth celebrating.

With love,
Malissa x