Roaming Towards Myself

Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.

I suppose one of the biggest risks I’ve taken recently is deciding I’m not going to sit around waiting for my life to magically feel normal again.

Because that would be handy, wouldn’t it?
A nice little email from the universe saying, “Dear Debbie, everything makes sense now. Please resume normal programming.”
Sadly, no.

I didn’t choose every part of what happened. I didn’t plan to be sitting here in my fifties, single and healing from a deeply disrespectful relationship, travelling around the UK, writing books, looking at old houses in France, and planning to run a tiny B&B with a small dog and possibly too many notebooks.

But here we are.
The risk wasn’t one dramatic leap. It was all the smaller decisions after life changed.
Putting my writing online.
Publishing books that are a bit too honest in places.
Choosing travel because staying still didn’t feel right.
Looking at houses in France before I have every single detail neatly sorted.
Letting myself want a life that actually suits me, even if it looks different from the one I thought I was building.
That feels risky sometimes.

People have opinions. Plans can change. Money has to be worked out. Visas are confusing. French property listings are apparently written by people who think “needs refreshing” is a full structural report.

But I don’t regret taking the risk.
Because the alternative was staying in a life that would not have given me the space to heal properly, write honestly, travel, or build the things I really want.
And honestly, I’ve already done enough waiting.
I’d rather be unsure and moving forward than settled in a life that no longer had room for how I actually wanted to live.