The Vision We Lose - and How to Reclaim It

There was a time when we dreamed freely. When we leaped, trusted, experimented, and believed the universe would catch us. But something happens along the way – life builds up around us like bricks. Bills. Babies. Jobs. Expectations. Slowly, the risk feels heavier, and the vision grows faint. 

As children, we know exactly what we want. We play dress up. We play pretend. We stand up tall and proud in Mrs. Haas’s first grade class with our shoulders back, announcing that we’re going to be a fashion designer and a businesswoman when we grow up. But that big, bubbling pot of confidence that we’re born with tends to get sprinkled with a dash of, “that’s stupid, you shouldn’t want that,” a hint of, “I know what’s best for you,” a tablespoon of, “you’re going to fail if you don’t do things this way,” and a whole lot of doubt. By the time we reach the difficult teen years, we don’t have a clue what we want. 

My younger self was a daredevil. She was fearless. She would jump on any stage. She would walk away from any job or relationship that didn’t feel good to her or make her happy. She would pick up and move to a new city with $20 in her pocket, with full confidence that she would figure it out.  

But as I grew older, as I became a mom, as I stopped answering to parental figures and started answering to the relationships I was in, I became more risk averse. I became more “sensible.” That was the responsible thing to do, right? Hold onto that steady job. Stay in that relationship. Don’t believe in any dream that doesn’t come with a 401k or a steady income. This was the right thing to do. 

But I often found myself wondering, if this is the right thing to do, why does it feel so wrong? As time passed, I stopped being the priority. I didn’t check in with my own emotions, my own needs, or my own body. At 18 years old, I was diagnosed with panic disorder after months of believing that there was something seriously wrong with me that was making me sick. Ironically, this diagnosis came just months after enrolling in a school I did not want to go to for a major I was not interested in because it was the more “sensible” choice. From the age of 18, my body was screaming to me, telling me that I was off course, but I gave my loved ones the majority vote and didn’t listen until my body gave me no choice. 

It was July 2017, and I had just lost my favorite uncle. This same month, I found myself in the emergency room with rocket high blood pressure. As I laid on the exam tables hooked up to monitors, I got a call from the human resources department at work. As this was happening, the doctor and I watched as the numbers on the monitor shot up and down. This is when he told me that I had stress-induced high blood pressure. My body was telling me once again that it was not happy with me and I was off course.

 I wish I could say that I heeded the lesson right away. It took me some time after that to start choosing myself more and not worrying so much about what others believed was possible or realistic for me. I had spent my life trying to make everyone else happy, and I was failing because that was never my assignment. Nobody was happy – including myself – and my own happiness was the only happiness that was ultimately within my control. 

We start playing it safe, not because we’re weak, but because we’ve been taught that safety is the goal. But oftentimes, the things we believe are safe for us can be poisonous. Furthermore, deep inside, there’s still a whisper of something more. A younger version of ourselves who hasn’t given up, who’s still waiting for us to say yes.

The older we get, the more the world tells us our chance has passed. That our dreams were cute, once. But not practical. Not wise. Not realistic. Especially if we’ve taken on the role of caretaker, employee, or provider. And yet, what if that vision isn’t gone? What if it’s buried, not broken? 

It took me some time, but I learned to start listening to my intuition and to my body. I distanced myself from harmful and toxic relationships. I stopped caring about being the villain of other people’s stories. I invested in myself. I hired coaches. I asked questions to the people who had accomplished the things I wanted to accomplish. I noticed that when I honored my body, my voice, and my own desires, my body would respond kindly to me. I’ve taken more risks, and I’ve taken them afraid because ultimately, my passion would overrule my fear.

In the end, I’m thankful that my body spoke to me all those years even when it didn’t feel good because I was able to heed the messages and honor ME. Sometimes, it’s not about taking a pill to dull the messages, but more so about honoring the messages your body is trying to tell you.

This isn’t about being reckless – it's about intentional trust. It’s about asking yourself, what did I want before the world told me who to be? And then, piece by piece, honoring that vision again.

Even if it’s small at first. A blog post. A painting. A whispered “yes” to something that lights you up. 

You’re not too old. It’s not too late. And you’re not stuck – you're just being called home to yourself.