If you’ve been waiting, holding back, holding your breath…this is your permission.
We do that, don’t we?
We play small. We wait. We check that the coast is clear.
We look around for validation like it’s going to be some empty parking space, ready for us at just the right time.
We feel that knotted-stomach ache when we postpone authenticity, one more time, because it doesn’t feel safe.
We let our voices be drowned out under thunderous belligerence of those who would keep us small.
I saw some street art once that echoed what I knew deep down underneath the niceness and the waiting:
“If you want to achieve greatness, stop asking for permission.”
You have permission to be too much.
To be enough. To take what you need.
To ask for what you want.
To use the wrong words, awkwardly, and burst out laughing.
To be quiet, to take time for yourself, and return without being judged.
To come out of hiding, to burst forth—to take up space in the world.
To eat dinner in bed—with your fingers—and make a mess.
To talk too much, without stopping, because it’s bursting out of you.
To say nothing, because the words are stuck right now.
To dance, to no music, in the grocery store, when everyone is looking.
To sit, and not move, because you are so lost in thought that it’s taken you elsewhere.
To fall asleep when your body says so—or stay up late because there’s just one more thing you need to say.
To laugh too loud, for too long until you snort and tears run down your cheeks.
To cry, without explaining yourself, without worrying about how it will affect anyone else, because it’s raining in your heart and it needs to come out.
To whisper the things that feel like they will rip your throat if you say them too loud.
To run wild, to be naked, to let go of everything that obscures the blindingly beautiful light inside you.
Or to crawl in and pull the covers all the way up to your chin and hide (if it’s that time. Because we honor those times too).
To banish the word “should” from your vocabulary, and forever after replace it with profanity, because fuck “should” anyway.
To be exactly who you are, and keep peeling away at what the world has told you that you should be.
You have permission to stop asking for permission.
You have permission to be your badass magnificent self, every minute of the blissful right now that we have—and to start it all up again tomorrow.
This is your permission. (You can give it to yourself.)