“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~Anaïs Nin

What is it about us that makes us wait for permission? To do what we want. To be who we are. We wait until we’ve “earned” it, until we’re thinner, smarter, more talented. Until we’re finally good enough.

Everyone has dreams, right? Some want to travel. Some want to write a book. Others dream of running a marathon. Or something smaller: a bold haircut. Or something bigger: quitting a job that drains you.

And still, we wait.

We wait for someone to say, “You’d look amazing with short hair.” Or for someone to nod at our resignation plans and say, “Yes, you should go for it.” That’s when we feel allowed. That’s when we move.

I know that waiting. I’ve lived it.

Finding My Voice

As a kid, I sang constantly. But no one praised it. My family was mostly annoyed. So I stopped. I only sang when I was alone. Later, in a shared student flat, I stopped altogether, afraid of bothering others again. It never occurred to me that I could choose it for myself.

Only last year, at twenty-eight, did I realize that I still loved singing. Deeply. I didn’t need a record deal or an audience. I just needed to sing. So I signed up for lessons.

And something shifted.

The envy I used to feel toward other singers disappeared. I no longer needed to watch from the outside, admiring those who gave themselves permission to take up space. I was finally doing the thing I had always wanted to do.

The Power of Permission

That small, seemingly impractical thing changed how I saw everything. Because it wasn’t about singing, really. It was about permission. It was about allowing myself to follow what lit me up, even if no one else understood it, even if it didn’t look productive or impressive.

The more I sang, the more I felt connected to myself. Singing wasn’t just a hobby. It became a practice of self-connection. A form of expression that didn’t require explanation. A way to feel my emotions directly. A space where I didn’t have to be “good,” just real.

I kept thinking: Why did I wait so long? Why did I assume I needed someone else’s approval to do something that made me feel so alive?

And that made me wonder: What else are we not doing because we don’t think we’re allowed to? What are we hungry for—not in our stomachs, but in our souls?

From Productivity to Presence

The world is full of beauty. There’s so much to explore, to feel, to create. Colors to wear, places to visit, ideas to follow. And yet, so often, we’re taught to value productivity over presence. We’re encouraged to measure our worth by how much we do, not how deeply we live. Even joy is shaped by consumption—buying more, doing more—rather than simply being with ourselves.

As an empathic child, I learned to listen closely. I became good at being helpful, at making others feel better. I was insecure and eager to be liked, especially by the louder kids, the ones who seemed confident and sure of themselves. I felt like a shadow, orbiting them like a small planet around a bright sun.

Without realizing it, I gave others a lot of power. Their approval made me feel like I belonged. But I wasn’t truly seen, because I only said what I thought I was supposed to say. I adjusted, adapted, and slowly drifted away from myself.

Now, as I reconnect with who I really am, I notice how strong and steady my voice feels. It’s warm and grounded. And the more rooted I am in myself, the more I want to reach out to others—not to prove anything, but to share something honest. From a place that feels real.

Becoming My Own Sun

Singing, writing, exploring my inner world—these practices make me glow. As strange as it sounds, they help me see who I am. They help me ask: Who am I circling? Who am I waiting for?

Or maybe, just maybe, I’m no longer circling anyone. Maybe I’ve become my own sun.

A few years ago, I didn’t know I could feel this steady, this full. That it could all be sparked by something as ancient and simple as using my voice is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Why It Matters

For a while, I wondered, why is it so important that I feel good? Why does it matter that I sing, that I write, that I want to be heard? Isn’t that selfish? Isn’t it enough to live quietly and be kind?

I struggled with that. But I’ve come to believe this: when we’re connected to ourselves—truly, deeply—we show up differently. More honestly. More gently. More powerfully. Not just for ourselves, but for others. Using your voice, in whatever form it takes, isn’t just about being seen. It’s about being aligned. And from that place, it’s easier to love, to give, to create something real.

I’ve also noticed how much I admire expressive people. I love watching them, listening to them, the ones who dare to use their voices and share their insights. Through them, I see myself more clearly. I understand life better. Not just through psychology or theory or polished words, but through colors, soft fabrics, melodies, laughter, and tears.

I never imagined I could be one of those people. Someone who creates something raw and real from lived experience. Someone who turns ache and wonder into something that touches others.

I didn’t think I was talented enough. I didn’t think anyone would care. I didn’t think I had permission. But now I know: I have to try. Because when I don’t, I feel numb. A little lost. It’s like the light dims—not completely, but just enough that I start to question who I am and what I’m meant to do in this world.

An Invitation

I’m deeply grateful if my work resonates with anyone. But more than anything, I hope it encourages others to tune into themselves too—to share what’s on their minds, vulnerably and tenderly, as artists, as friends, as strangers, as humans.

Because I believe this now: when we find and express our true voice, we open the door to real connection. That’s what I’m hungry for. Not just to shine, but to sit beside you in the light and in the dark.

So let me ask you:

What are you hungry for, not in your stomach, but in your spirit? What’s calling to you quietly, again and again?

When I talk to friends or clients, I often notice that many can’t answer this question right away. When our wishes, desires, and creative longings have been ignored or even shamed for years, they tend to go quiet.

But that doesn’t mean they’re gone.

Ways to Reconnect with What You’re Hungry For

Here are a few gentle ways to rediscover what you might be craving, deep down:

Look back at your childhood.

What did you love to do, naturally and freely? What made you lose track of time?

Notice what you do when you’re procrastinating.

What are you actually drawn toward? I used to hum and sing unconsciously while avoiding tasks. Now I see that as my creative energy trying to reach me. What’s tugging at your sleeve?

Pay attention to envy.

Who do you envy, and why? Envy can be a compass, pointing you toward a part of yourself that’s longing to be seen or expressed.

Try something unexpected.

Take a class you never thought you’d sign up for. Explore a new hobby that feels exciting or strange or slightly scary.

Follow what feels warm, light, alive.

It doesn’t have to be big. A color that makes you smile. A conversation that lights you up. A song you keep playing on repeat. That spark matters.

You don’t need permission to begin.

You just need curiosity. And the courage to listen to the quiet, persistent part of you that’s been whispering all along.

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