I'm Not Allowed

I’m not allowed.

The world has screamed that at me for years. How?

I couldn’t defend my priorities because they didn’t make money. If they weren’t making money, then they were hobbies—and they had to wait until everybody else was happy.

But what about me?

The wound runs deep. While I’ve “fixed” a lot of the things I had control over by creating space for myself, the world still tells me I’m not allowed every single day. It’s something I can’t control. I have to learn to ignore it—and it’s hard to do.

I’m trying to convince myself to do it anyway, even if nothing ever changes—even if in 20 years I’m still in exactly the same spot.

Is that realistic?

No. Of course not. Change is a given. It won’t be like this forever. It’s self-protection. If I tell myself it’ll never change and that that’s okay, then whether it does or it doesn’t, I can handle it.

It feels like I’m telling myself to accept failure.

Is that a true story?

If I show up every day, is that still failure?

If I honor myself every day, is that still failure?

If I write another book, whether it sells or not—is that still failure? Writing a book isn’t failure, is it?

Writing 12 or 13 books like I’ve already done isn’t failure, is it?

Then why does it feel like failure?

Because of the way we measure “success.” Success isn’t in the doing of the thing—it’s in the dollar value. It’s in the numbers. Success isn’t crocheting the blanket. Success is selling it for a few hundred dollars. Success isn’t writing the book. Success is selling a million copies of the book. If you don’t do those things, then you fail.

The measure of success is wrong.

For me, that measure of success was also my permission slip. It was the thing that would allow me to prove it was okay to write—that it wasn’t just a hobby—and that I was allowed to make space for it if I wanted to.

We talk all the time about putting ourselves on our own priority lists. Usually we’re just referring to the basics, like making sure a new mom gets to shower every day. But it goes beyond that.

Self-care in pop culture means haircuts, manicures, going for a walk, or taking a bath. But those things aren’t really self-care. Self-care in the truest sense is creating a strong connection with yourself. It’s tending to your inner world—not just making your external form look nice.

Typically, when we talk about putting ourselves on our own lists using pop-culture self-care, it’s about making time to get our nails done or work out. It’s not about making time for a deep connection with ourselves. For me, writing is my self-care. It’s my connection to myself. It’s who I am. And it’s also what I want to do for a living.

Unlike manicures and workouts, writing is tied to money, sales, and views. Sure, you’re going to pay for the manicure—but it’s not (hopefully) tied to your worth in the world.

Writing is both my connection to myself and my career. That gets a little slushy because it applies external goals—sales and views—to who I am as a human being. Suddenly, I felt like I needed permission to take care of myself—and the only way to get that permission was to make money doing it.

That story isn’t true.

My self-worth hinged on external success, which then triggered my insecurity and became a need for permission and acceptance through money and views.

Unravelling that has taken a long time. I went through periods of having to accept my own changing viewpoints. I had to let go of the idea that I had to make content that made other people happy. I had to step out of the pressure to be a content creator. I had to let go of how it was “supposed to” look based on how the world thinks a writer should show up, so I could do it the way I want to.

And now, finally, I’ve had to let go of the need for permission through sales and views—so I no longer need acceptance or validation from the outside world to be who I am: a writer who uses writing to connect to herself.

Writing is how I’ve healed. It’s how I ground myself. It’s how I center. It’s how I problem-solve. It’s how I show up. I can’t tie that to external numbers. It’s so much bigger than that.

For a while, it showed up as new platforms, new ideas, rebranding—because I wasn’t ready to deal with the real problem: my self-worth being tied to external goals.

Now that I am dealing with it, I can do what I need to do. I can give myself permission to show up anyway—regardless of what happens.

My writing matters regardless of what those numbers say—and my self-worth is not attached to them.

When I finally, fully accept that truth, I’ll show up anyway.

That’s the power of healing. It lets you be who you are—and show up anyway.

It’s not a question of whether I’ll do it or not. It’s only a matter of how long it takes me to get there.

Love to all,

Della

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