I want you to try something with me.
Look down at what you’re wearing. You picked that out. You decided this morning that this is the version of you the world gets to see today. You envisioned this outfit before you put it on. Now think about your coffee — the temperature, the milk, the sweetener, whether it goes in a mug or a tumbler. You made all of that up too.
Your business? Made up. The way you run your meetings, the kind of clients you take, the hours you keep, and the title on your email signature. Made up. Every single piece of it came from a decision you made, and most of the time, the decision was made so long ago you forgot it was a decision at all.
We make up a lot of stuff, and here’s the part that really gets me: we make up our problems, too!
Picture a house painter. Tape on every edge. Lines so straight you could check your posture against them. They walk into a room someone else painted, and they see it instantly — the little wiggle along the trim, the spot where the cut-in isn’t clean. Their stomach tightens. How could they let that go out the door?
Now, you walk into the same room. If you notice anything at all, it’s a shrug. Eh, not perfectly straight. No tightness. No reaction. Same room. Same wall. Same wiggly line.
The difference isn’t the paint. The difference is the story each of you brought in with you. The painter has trained themselve to see imperfection as a personal offense. You haven’t. So one of you suffers in that room, and the other one barely registers it.
That’s how we move through every day of our lives. We show up, react, and feel based on the stories we’ve told ourselves about what should be straight, what should be different, and what should already be happening by now.
Michael Singer writes about this in The Untethered Soul and The Surrender Experiment, the way we let life hit us. The way we take in a moment, decide we don’t like how it feels, and then close down around it. We build a little wall. We carry the wall with us. And then we wonder why we feel so heavy.
His invitation is so simple it’s almost annoying: just let it pass through. Don’t grip it. Don’t make it mean something about you. The discomfort isn’t the problem. Holding onto the discomfort is the problem.
But here’s what I keep coming back to: we don’t just hold onto the bad stuff. We hold onto a whole identity. A complete picture of who we have to be to deserve happiness. We hold onto a definition of success we never actually chose; we just inherited it.
Someone is looking at your life right now and feeling excited for you. Your business, your podcast, your title, the way you show up, somebody is looking at it and thinking that is so cool, I want what she has.
And what are you doing? You’re looking at the same thing and feeling tired. Depleted. Like it’s not enough yet. Like the real version of success is still out there, just past the next launch, the next revenue goal, the next milestone you’ve been chasing for three years.
You and that other person are looking at the exact same painted wall. You’re the painter. They’re the bystander. The wall hasn’t changed.
Most of us wait for something to happen before we let ourselves feel free. When the business hits the number. When the kids are older. When the body looks the way it used to. When the calendar clears. When somebody important finally notices. And then what? Then we get to exhale? Then we get to be the person we already are underneath all of this?
What if the thing you’re waiting on doesn’t actually unlock anything? What if it just gives you a brief hit of relief and then your brain immediately starts negotiating for the next thing? (Spoiler: that’s exactly what it does. Every time.) What if the freedom isn’t on the other side of the goal? What if it’s available right now, in the version of your life that already exists, the second you stop demanding it look different?
If we made up the rules, we get to change them. If we made up that we don’t like something because of the way we decided it makes us feel, we can decide differently. Not by pretending. Not by gaslighting yourself into loving things you genuinely don’t love. But by noticing that you’ve been the one writing the story this whole time. Which means you’re also the one who can pick up the pen.
You can let yourself feel happy now. Not when. Not after. Now.
You can let success be the thing it actually is for you, not the version your mom wanted, not the version your industry says is impressive, not the version your old self decided on at 24 before she knew anything. The real one. The one that, when you say it out loud, makes your shoulders drop two inches. You can let go of who you thought you had to be in order to deserve any of this. Because that person was made up too. And honestly? She was kind of exhausting.
Today, I invite you to just notice. Notice when you tighten around something. Notice when you decide a moment is bad before you’ve even let it land. Notice the wall going up and then see if you can do what Singer suggests. Let it move through. Don’t fight it, don’t build a story around it, just let it pass.
Then ask yourself the question that changes everything: If I made all of this up, what do I actually want to make up next? You’re allowed to answer honestly. You’re allowed to feel free now. You’re allowed to be happy in the middle of the unfinished version of your life.
That part was never something you had to earn. It was always something you could choose. You just forgot. Welcome back.
If this landed, I’d love to hear about it. Come find me over on Instagram @dr.anna.marie and tell me what you’ve been making up that’s been making you tired, and what you might want to make up instead.
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