I really LOVE my job!?

A Post About Love.

“I really love my job.” I still sometimes pause when I say that out loud, partly because it feels suspicious, and partly because for most of my adult life those words belonged firmly in the category of “things people say in interviews” rather than “things people genuinely feel on a Wednesday morning.”

For years, loving my job simply meant that it didn’t make me cry in the bathroom, which, at the time, felt like an impressively high standard.

Most of us worked because rent, children, and supermarkets refusing “passion” as payment made it necessary. So we convinced ourselves that being permanently tired, slightly irritated, and emotionally unavailable by 8pm was just adulthood. We renamed burnout “ambition” and congratulated ourselves for surviving the week. Somehow, we called that success. But never - Love!

Which is probably why Valentine’s Day now makes me reflective rather than romantic, because once you’ve lived a bit, you realise love has less to do with roses and more to do with not wanting to escape your own life. 

When we’re young, love looks like a film soundtrack and a nervous breakdown, so we confuse anxiety with passion, emotional chaos with “chemistry,” and stay far too long in draining situations.

Then life happens.

We grow up, our priorities shift, our knees start making strange noises, and suddenly emotional stability becomes more attractive than mystery.

There is the love for your partner, which starts with excitement and the belief that you’ll always be your best selves together, until real life arrives with bills, children, tired evenings, hormones, and thermostat wars. You see each other in pyjamas, with eye bags and bad moods, and instead of storming off, you stay. You learn that love is less about grand gestures and more about not leaving when things get difficult.

Then there is the love for your children, which turns you into a professional worrier, emotionally invested in someone who can’t find their shoes but controls your entire heart. You would die for them. You would also really like them to clean their room.

There is love for your parents, which evolves from admiration to frustration to understanding, until you realise they were just people doing their best without parenting podcasts. And suddenly, you feel very grateful.

Through all of this, you start wondering whether love fades or simply matures into something quieter, steadier, and far more useful.

Because real love isn’t dramatic. It’s tea when you’re tired. Inside jokes. A look that says, “This is boring, but we’ll survive.” Feeling safe enough to be yourself.

It’s home.

And if you’re lucky enough to have that - in your work, your relationships, your family, and yourself - protect it. It’s rare. It’s what makes life feel good rather than just busy.

That is real love. No roses required. ❤️