Becoming the woman of my dreams

The era of “good enough” is over.

Let me tell you something I’ve only just admitted out loud:

I’ve never seen myself as a high-value woman.

Not really. Not the kind who walks into a room and is taken seriously without needing to prove anything. Not the kind who buys herself the expensive moisturizer without guilt. Not the kind who chooses one elegant dress instead of ten “on sale” ones that are just good enough.

Instead, I’ve been the one hovering just outside the room, hoping someone would open the door and let me in.

And I don’t mean just physically. I mean emotionally.
I’ve always been above average at a lot of things. I can sing. I can write. I can talk well (honestly, that’s how I’ve built a whole career). I’m thoughtful. I’m strategic. I’m deeply empathetic. When I was a kid, I even had a knack for sports, though no one would’ve known because I never followed any of it through.

That’s the pattern, isn’t it?
I get close to something I love… and then I back away.
Almost—but not quite.
Better than average… but never all in.

And I used to think I was just lazy. Or distracted. Or bad at consistency.
But now I’m starting to see it for what it really is:
I never truly believed I was meant to take up space.
That I was worthy of excellence.
Of softness.
Of being witnessed in full bloom.

I’ve spent so long feeling like a small-town girl pretending to belong in grown-up rooms. That feeling doesn’t go away easily. Especially when you grow up with emotional neglect, or never feeling protected, or constantly being told that being “too much” was the problem.

And then you become a mother, and the little bit of attention you used to give yourself vanishes completely. Your clothes get practical. Your hair gets tied back. You stop seeing your face in the mirror—you just check if there’s anything on it.

But recently, something has started shifting.
Slowly. But noticeably.

It’s in the way I’ve begun investing in my hair, my skin, my movement, my nourishment. Not for anyone else—but because I want to feel beautiful to myself.

It’s in the way I’m choosing things I want, even if they’re inconvenient.
The way I’m taking up space.
The way I’m letting myself want more.

I think I’m finally starting to believe I matter.
Not because I’m impressive or productive or useful.
But because I exist.

That’s what being a high-value woman means to me now.
Not designer bags or red lipstick (though if those speak to you—by all means, wear them loud).
It means I treat myself like someone who’s worth effort.
It means I let myself go deeper into the things I love.
It means I stop running from the version of me that’s actually magnetic.

It means I stop asking, “Who am I to deserve this?”
And start saying, “Of course I do.”

So this season? I’m walking into that room.
I’m letting myself belong.
And maybe you are too.