Permission Is A Choice

Last week, I found myself doing something I know all too well.

I was trying to decide whether to buy MORE BTS concert tickets.

On the surface, it seemed like a simple decision:

Do I need to go for another night?

Can I afford it?

Does it fit into my schedule? Am I too greedy?

But beneath those practical questions was another, quieter one:

Have I earned it?

The moment I noticed myself asking that question, I realised I wasn't evaluating the tickets.

I was evaluating my worthiness.

If you've followed my journey for a while, you'll know I've been learning how to have more fun, play and spontaneity in life again

What I didn't realise was that another layer still sat underneath.

Even when I wanted something, I was still running an internal audit:

Have I worked hard enough?

Have I been productive enough?

Is this too much?

Am I allowed to spend this much money on myself?

The funny thing is, the guilt wasn't really about the money.

It rarely is.

The guilt was about receiving.

Because somewhere along the way, I learned a subtle rule:

I need to exchange usefulness to earn my place, belonging and love.

And if that is the rule, then every good thing comes with a price.

Every treat.

Every gift.

Every act of kindness.

Every moment of rest.

Every experience that brings joy.

I have to pay back.

There must be something I have done to deserve it.

Recently, I was sharing with a friend how difficult it is for me to receive.

If a friend does something kind for me, my instinct is often to find a way to repay them.

To balance the scales.

To make sure I am not taking more than I give.

Not because I don't appreciate the gesture.

But because receiving can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

As though simply receiving creates a debt.

What I am beginning to see is that waiting for guilt to disappear before making a choice is a losing game.

Because guilt is not always a sign that something is wrong.

Sometimes it is simply a sign that we are stepping beyond an old story.

A story that says:

"You must earn your right to rest."

"You must earn your right to receive."

"You must earn your right to enjoy your life."

This time, I made a different choice.

The guilt was still there.

The shame was still there.

The questions were still there.

But I chose anyway.

Not because I was certain.

Not because I had finally convinced myself I was worthy.

But because I no longer wanted those voices making every decision for me.

A few hours later, all the tickets were sold out.

And what I felt wasn't regret.

It was relief.

Relief that I had listened to what I wanted.

Relief that I had given myself permission.

Relief that I had not talked myself out of joy again.

Days later, this thought landed, almost like a lightbulb moment:

Permission is a choice.

Not a reward.

Not something granted after enough productivity.

Not something we receive once we have finally proven our worth.

A choice.

One we get to make over and over again.

Sometimes while excitement is present.

Sometimes while guilt is present.

Sometimes while fear is present.

Perhaps the goal isn't to wait until we feel completely worthy.

Perhaps the invitation is to practice choosing ourselves anyway.

To trust that joy does not always need to be justified.

To trust that receiving does not always require repayment.

To trust that being alive is reason enough to experience beauty, rest, play and delight.

And perhaps, little by little, that is how we come home to ourselves.🤍