There’s a quiet grief that comes with wanting more than you’ve been allowed to have.
Not flashy more.
Not status or spectacle.
Just… more truth.
More belonging.
More of your actual life in your life.
Maybe you’ve felt it too, like an ache that doesn’t go away, even when you try to be grateful, practical, reasonable.
If this longing feels familiar, this post on reclaiming your voice and life might speak to the version of you that’s been quietly waiting.
Maybe you’ve asked:
- Am I being unrealistic?
- Shouldn’t I be content?
- Why does it hurt to want this much?
Let me say something that no one said to me when I needed it most:
You’re not broken for wanting a meaningful life. You’re starved for it.
The Real Myth Isn’t That You Want Too Much. It’s That You Were Told You Shouldn’t
We live in a world that rewards performance, not presence.
Speed, not soul.
And somewhere along the way, you may have been told, directly or indirectly, that meaning is indulgent. That what you feel is “too much.” That wanting to feel alive is naïve, inconvenient, or dramatic.
It’s not.
Wanting meaning is not weakness.
It’s a form of intelligence.
It’s your internal compass refusing to go numb.
It is your myth, waking up.
If you’ve ever felt like you’re living someone else’s script, this post explores how to begin rewriting it: The Story You Inherited Isn’t the One You Have to Live.
You’re Not Behind. You’re Starved.
People who crave depth are often the last to receive it.
Maybe you’ve spent years helping others, keeping the peace, trying to function.
Maybe you’re grieving the time you’ve lost working, adapting, surviving… while a quiet voice inside you whispered, “There’s more to life than this.”
And now you wonder if it’s too late.
If the path is gone.
If you waited too long.
But here’s what I believe:
You’re not broken for wanting a meaningful life.
The fact that you’re still able to ask these questions means the thread is still there.
The wanting?
It isn’t the problem.
It’s the invitation.
The Path Back to Meaning Isn’t Grand. It’s Gentle.
Not a revolution. A re-remembering.
Meaning is in the micro-choices.
The pauses.
The refusal to go numb again.
Sometimes it starts here, with someone else telling you:
You are not broken. You are remembering.
And if you want company while you figure out what comes next…
That’s part of what I do.
I make space for the ones who still believe in stories.
Especially the ones who are afraid theirs doesn’t count anymore.
Your story isn’t over.
The next chapter just begins from where you are, not where you thought you should be.
