Leg day for reputation

I’ve been asking for permission for too long.
• Permission to think: I chased a PhD.
• Permission to do: I collected degrees.
• Permission to be: I pursued fellowships.
• Permission to exist: I tried to be the perfect mother, wife, doctor.
• Permission to belong: I sought citizenship, a flag, a title.

But this year? This brutal, clarifying, unrelenting year?

It told me: I’ve been doing it all wrong.

I don’t write unless I feel an “urge to purge.”
I don’t act until I’ve taken three courses.
I stall, stall, stall…for what?

Perfection?
Reputation?
Glory?

It’s bullshit.

Every story that moves me, every person I admire, they didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t outskill the fear. They outlasted it.

They showed up.

Even when they were broken.
Even when they didn’t believe in themselves.
Even when it felt worthless.

The point isn’t to win.
The point is to...