Breaking Free: How I Stopped Living for Everyone Else and Finally Chose Happiness

I recently wrote a very short post on instagram about the moment I realised I’d spent most of my adult life performing happiness rather than actually feeling it. I was the ultimate people-pleaser, convinced that if I just tried hard enough I could keep everyone happy. Of course, that’s impossible – you’d need a million different personalities to pull it off.

I’d built an impressive-looking life on paper: demanding roles in big printing firms, rushing through rush-hour traffic morning and night, over the years dropping my four children off at nurseries and schools so the system could raise them while I funded the lifestyle I thought we were supposed to have. Designer shoes, elegant clothes, the latest gadgets, perfumes, exotic holidays, a shiny car on finance, and – the second a new iPhone dropped – I’d be first in the queue. Christmas became a frantic competition: if the tree wasn’t buried in presents I felt like a failure of a mother.

My eldest dutifully went through school, college and university. I’m incredibly proud of her, but I now see how much of that path was shaped by expectation from the education system rather than her own passion. She has a good job today – one she could have walked into without the degree and the debt.

Watching that pattern repeat itself was the wake-up call I needed. I pulled my younger three out of school and we began home-educating. It was hard at first – the judgement was relentless. One of my daughters had spent two years at an excellent private school: beautiful facilities, endless opportunities, sports, debate, choir, piano, the lot. On paper it was perfect. In reality she was there six days a week, came home exhausted, did two hours of homework every evening, and shuffled around like a zombie in the few hours left. She lost her spark. When she asked to leave, we listened.

The younger two had been at a lovely primary, and I truly can’t fault it, but something still felt wrong. I was so busy chasing promotions and qualifications – patisserie, bakery work, Open University creative writing, web design, interior design and architecture, farm work, dog behaviour and psychology – that I barely knew my own children.

Home education forced me to slow down and actually see them. Suddenly their personalities shone through: what made them light up, what bored them to tears, who they really were. We learned through museums, sea swimming, growing vegetables, cooking together, piano, arts and crafts, and yes, some proper curriculum work too when it suited us. They socialise with people of all ages, they can function in the real world, they understand money (good debt versus bad debt), credit, mortgages and real-world finance.

My second daughter sat a bookkeeping exam at 14, passed with flying colours, started Level 2 accounting, and is now lined up for an apprenticeship – after trying college for a term and deciding it wasn’t for her. My son is happily rebuilding classic cars in between his studies, with his own project quietly taking shape in the garage. My youngest has claimed our art studio and disappears for hours building intricate models and painting.

I’ve given up a lot to make this possible. No more new cars, new phones every year, or racking up debt to keep up appearances. And you know what? It wasn’t worth the hype or the stress. Everything I ever really needed was right here. Christmas is joyful again: we bake gingerbread, go ice-skating, and last Christmas I hid a trail of clues for a treasure hunt around the house, with treasure waiting at the end (they said it was their favourite Christmas ever).

We still run our family business, we’re still busy, and we’ve faced a mountain of criticism for doing things differently. But we stood our ground, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

By wanting less, we’ve gained so much more. Time – proper, unhurried time together – is the most precious thing we have. Without it, everything else is worthless. And I’m going to make sure that every bit of it really counts from now on.

If you’re stuck on the hamster wheel, wondering why “success” still feels empty, know this: it’s never too late to step off, listen to your gut, and choose the life that actually fits your family – not the one everyone else expects. It’s not without its down points, it’s scary, but it’s the best thing we’ve ever done.