The Cost of Wanting More.

Reclaiming ambition through creation

There was a time when I measured my worth by how much I could hold.
How well I performed the roles, how quietly I sacrificed,
how small I could make my needs so no one felt burdened by them.

But there comes a point when quiet becomes suffocating.
When you start to wonder who you might be
if you stopped shrinking to fit the shape of what’s expected.

They tell you to be grateful — and you are.
But gratitude can’t fill the spaces that purpose leaves behind.
There is a hunger that good intentions cannot quiet.

When I began creating again, I didn’t do it to be brave.
I did it to breathe.
I made something that spoke first to me —
a reminder that I am still here,
that my mind still dreams beyond the walls of daily duty.

It wasn’t glamorous.
It was slow, awkward, and often lonely.
But something in me shifted.
I stopped apologizing for wanting more.

Because “more” isn’t greed.
It’s the pulse of becoming —
the ache of a woman remembering her own name.

I am still learning how to hold that want
without shame, without explanation.
Creation taught me that freedom doesn’t always look like escape.
Sometimes it’s just making room —
for the woman you were before the world told you who to be.

And maybe that’s the real cost of wanting more:
you lose the version of yourself
who settled for less