Permission to Be Me

I always knew I was an eclectic personality. So many moving parts to one soul. Never satisfied with one group of friends. Never happy with one club. Not satisfied with one hobby — I need six. Unable to choose just one outfit — I need options.

My options always seemed to be out of reach. Were my dreams too big? Or was I simply born into the wrong epoch?

My dreams never gained traction because there was always someone telling me what I couldn’t be, what was a stupid idea or what would never work. Blindly, I believed the narrative. They knew better; they were the adults, after all, and disobedience was not tolerated.

I never realised I had a choice.

I thought toeing the line, so to speak, was what would get me to who I was supposed to be. I thought I would arrive when I was older.

But hello, here we are, 54. How much older do I need to be before I give myself permission to be who I always was? To peel back that protection and simply allow myself to arrive?

For a long time, I thought I was just lost. That I had no direction. But the truth is, I know exactly what I want; I just don’t always know how to achieve it.

Even as a young girl, I couldn’t choose a career — and why should I? The world is full of opportunities. Why must I choose just one route?

The problem is that a blueprint for my life has not yet been created. I can’t follow in the footsteps of someone else because they have never lived my truth. I couldn’t fit into the box of who I was supposed to become because the truth is, I am still discovering her.

And perhaps that is the point.

I can’t get to the blueprint without exploring. It doesn’t come together without knowledge, focus or some clarity about how all the pieces fit. Just as my eclectic personality has many moving parts, so does my blueprint.

There is no plan that can depict the life I have lived, the life I am living, or the one I hope to live in the future.

What I have discovered, however, is that hiding behind walls and allowing others to give me permission to do, be and become has led me to a place I am unfamiliar with.

So I step back and ask myself: when was permission taken from me?

Who decided I must be this obedient soul? Who says I have to stress about the outcomes of my dreams and desires? Perhaps that fear of the outcome is the very block I have spent so long avoiding.

When I have come across an obstacle, I haven’t always navigated it well. Somewhere inside me, it has felt like confirmation: See? This is not the road you should be travelling.

And so I retreated.

I never stayed long enough to discover what might have been on the other side.

Sometimes the person standing in my way may even have done so from a place of love, from a desire to protect me. But the result can be the same: a recoil, that gut-wrenching feeling of failure again. The impossible dream cannot become my reality because I am me, and the slightest negative comment can drag me straight to the bottom of the well.

The memories return. Not being enough. Not quite making the mark. Always feeling a little behind the person in front.

Why didn’t I have the confidence to say, No. This is what I want, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to achieve it?

Then age comes along with a new excuse: maybe I’m too old now.

But what if they were right? Perhaps this just isn’t me.

And then another question appears: But what is not me?

What was that dream? Was there more than one?

Hell yes, there was.

I watched other people pursue exactly the same dreams and become successful, and there was my validation: the idea wasn’t stupid. The dream wasn’t a failure.

I allowed circumstances, family, friends and peers to dictate my future when my gut feeling was asking, Why not me?

Was this really God’s plan for me? Surely not.

And now my head goes somewhere else: What if my new conversation with God is, “You gave me this beautiful life and I failed you because I let their opinions outrun the intuition you gave me — the intuition that tells me who I am meant to be”?

Perhaps following the dreams and visions of this life I was given is not disobedience at all.

Perhaps it is part of living it.

Confrontation has always been my nemesis, but this isn’t confrontation. It’s learning not to interpret every obstacle as an instruction to retreat. If I can’t move the block, perhaps I can find a way around it.

Yet peel back all the layers and I still feel as though I am expecting someone to give me permission to allow all these wonderful parts of me to become myself.

I am in a constant battle with myself, imagining that I already know the judgement you will place on me. And that alone leads me down the path of self-sabotage — stopping before anything is ever completed because potential is such a happier place than the what ifs.

What if you don’t like me?

What if you don’t like what I write?

What if my image isn’t perfect enough for you to love?

What if I have no talent?

What if I’m silly?

What if I’m too clever?

What if I fail?

And perhaps even worse: What if I succeed? What will the expectation of me be then?

Fear is the common denominator.

Fear keeps us in the cycle of believing we cannot achieve anything unless it is perfect. Thank you, social media, for that particular lesson.

But nothing is perfect. Every great idea needs somebody willing to take the leap of faith and accept that maybe it won’t be wonderful.

Maybe it will.

And if I fail, I can try again.

I can die trying.

I think I might regret it far more if I don’t.

And once again, here I am.

The biggest dream of my life was to be a writer.

Why? Because to write is to become a different character. It is permission to be who I want to be, to say what I feel and to reflect a world where my perception matters.

Writing is more than novels and encyclopaedias. It gives us permission to dream. It is a space for silent judgement, a place where we get to create our own image of the person writing, the story being told, perhaps even the characters or facts we are reading.

That’s my place. I get to be recognisable without the need to be recognised.

My character can come through in my words. I can be emotional or blasé. I can question, wonder, disagree, change my mind or expose something I might never have the courage to say aloud — all without ever meeting you.

Originally, I wanted to write for travel because, way back in the dark ages, people actually bought travel guides and I figured that would be a great way to see the world.

Now my writing comes from the perspective of a woman living her life and noticing what matters most to her.

And who knows? Maybe it matters to you too. Will I fail? Maybe.

But I’m enjoying the ride.

Perhaps experience will change the direction again. Perhaps somebody out there will recognise themselves in these words and follow a dream of their own.

I am 54, living my life, and I am not admitting to the midlife bit.

Because I feel midlife happens after 70. Im not there yet

xx Lei