There are days when I wonder: Who am I to speak about change, awareness, or inner freedom?
My old habit mind still knows how to sneak in quiet and familiar, trying to pull me back to an outdated version of myself. And in those moments, I ask myself: Have I really come any further than this?
I hear the whisper:
“Forget it. You can’t write. No one’s going to read what you have to say.”
That voice feels like an old coat—worn and heavy—but somehow still comforting in its familiarity. It’s tempting to crawl back into that old identity: to hide, to play small, to stay safely behind the curtain.
But that would be the real pain.
Lying to myself would hurt more than trying and failing ever could.
I’ve procrastinated so many times. I’ve convinced myself that now isn’t the right time. That I don’t have the money, the energy, the approval, the audience.
I’ve told myself: First, do the dishes. Then the shopping. Then, maybe, the writing.
But another day passes. And another. And nothing changes—because I haven’t changed.
The moment to act is never later. It’s always now.
We delay out of fear—out of the illusion that comfort is safer than growth. But more often than not, the thing that scares us most is exactly what we are meant to do.
And I know I’m meant to write.
Maybe my story will reach someone who needs to hear it. Maybe what I’ve learned through my struggle will help another woman take her first step out of fear.
But how would I ever know—unless I share?
I’ve decided: there is no going back.
This is a new me. One who dares. One who posts. One who writes not to impress, but to express.
Maybe I’ll receive criticism. Maybe I’ll get applause. Either way, I’ll grow.
As Byron Katie says: “It’s not the world that’s the prison. It’s our thoughts about the world.”
And Neville Goddard reminds us that even if we travel the globe, we’ll carry our prison with us if we haven’t found freedom within.
So here I am, standing at the edge of my old cage. And this time, I open the door.
Yes—fear is real. But so is faith.
Faith that the universe is kind. That life is responding. That everything is already within me.
We all know the phrase: “Ask, and it shall be given.” But most of us never truly ask—not with the certainty that it will come. We clutch the seed of our desire, but we don’t plant it.
And unplanted seeds never grow.
So today, I plant mine.
Not perfectly. Not without trembling.
But with sincerity and trust.
Because the time is now.
Because I am done giving my power away to fear and doubt.
Because someone, somewhere, may need this story.
Because this is my story.
And I’m finally ready to live it.