Needing Permission

Give yourself permission

I don’t know what day, or even year, it was. One morning I made myself coffee. I took my first sip of that warm chocolate colored heaven and thought, “a piece of that cake would be so good with this.” Followed quickly by, “No cake for breakfast.” A second sip, then, “wait, why can’t I?” So, I did. I gave myself permission.

I gave myself permission on something so trivial. The world tells us “No!” constantly. We see it everywhere. We hear it. It rings in our ears. So much so that when we hear “yes” we are stunned. Surprised that our meager little thoughts, ideas, suggestions, might be heard, let alone taken seriously. Even if only to prove us wrong. But why is wrong a bad thing? Why is wrong so hard to be?

I only recently (not quite 2 years ago) found a group of women through my astrology class when one of them started a study group. I couldn’t have guessed how quickly they would become part of my daily routine. Not only did we have this one thing in common, our love for the stars, but quickly learned that we had many shared experiences. We also have learned from each other’s differing histories and found inspiration in each of the ways we find ourselves being brave. This is my point. Being brave. Finding courage. and giving yourself permission to be unapologetically you.

These women have offered support when they see me bailing on myself. They have offered encouragement and kindness that I never knew existed. They inspire me daily. We’ve created a space in which it’s ok to be messy and work shit out. I am terribly grateful for that space and for those women.

All that said… it feels very vulnerable giving myself permission to write. Write this. Write anything at all that might be shared with even a small sliver of the world. It’s exciting though. Give yourself permission. To do the thing. Whatever it is that excites and scares you simultaneously.

And here I want to apologize because that’s what the world has taught me I must do. So, instead I will say, thank you for being here, reading anything I put out there. And because my other coping mechanism is deflecting, I feel like I should throw in a dad joke or something. Lighten the mood.

What do sprinters eat before a race? Nothing, they fast!

Big (dorky) love!