She asked me if I trusted myself.
Just a simple question.
And I broke.
I was sitting in my therapist’s office, trying to explain something I couldn’t quite name. And when she gently asked, “Do you trust yourself?”—I fell apart.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because I had been taught not to.
I Was Trained to Believe That My Heart Was Dangerous
I grew up with the belief that the heart is deceitful.
That you can’t trust your own feelings.
That you should always question your desires because they might lead you away from God.
And I took it seriously.
More seriously than most.
So seriously, in fact, that I lost my voice in the process.
It wasn’t just spiritual.
It became structural.
I couldn’t order what I wanted at a restaurant.
I couldn’t say “I like this” without running it through a filter of “But what does God want?”
I would say things like, “If God wants me to have the house, He’ll let me get it.”
As if my own desire was too dangerous to be trusted.
And when you spend decades deferring to something outside of you—even when that thing is sacred—you forget that you were created with desire on purpose.
I Cried Because No One Ever Told Me I Was Supposed to Be Present
That day in therapy, my therapist looked at me and said something that changed me forever.
She said, “What if God never meant for you to disappear? What if He meant to be added to you—not instead of you?”
It stopped me cold.
Because I had never heard that before.
I had been taught that I was bad and God was good—and therefore, I needed to shrink, deny, and disappear.
But what if… I was good too?
What if I wasn’t meant to silence my voice, but to learn to trust it?
What if God wanted me to feel joy? To feel beauty? To feel the goodness of this life?
And what if pleasure—real, holy, everyday pleasure—was never meant to be the enemy?
Pleasure Became My Rebellion
Not in a loud, throw-it-all-away kind of way.
But in the small, sacred decisions to choose myself.
To pick what I actually wanted from the menu.
To admit that I liked certain colors, flavors, spaces, moments.
To say, “This is beautiful and I want more of it.”
To understand that strawberry ice cream doesn’t need divine approval.
That joy doesn’t need a scripture reference.
That softness can be sacred—even if no one else sees it.
This Pleasure Is Mine
That’s the shift.
The ability to say, “This makes me feel good. And I don’t need permission.”
Not because I’m selfish.
But because I’m present.
Because I’m finally willing to love this life—not just endure it.
I’m not waiting for someone to tell me what’s allowed.
I’m not assigning every good thing to someone else’s plan.
I’m not hiding behind phrases like, “If it’s meant to be…” just to make myself feel safe from disappointment.
I’m in the room now.
I get to say what I want.
I get to design the atmosphere that honors the woman I’m becoming.
And the best part?
So do you.
Give Yourself Permission
If you’ve ever second-guessed yourself…
If you’ve ever been afraid to want something because it felt too bold, too selfish, too indulgent…
This is your permission slip.
To bask.
To choose.
To say, “This brings me pleasure, and I will not apologize for it.”
Pleasure can look like:
- A perfectly made cup of tea
- A beautifully curated space just for you
- A morning playlist that lights you up
- Laughing loudly with girlfriends
- Saying “no” and meaning it
- Wearing what feels good on your skin
- Knowing what you like—and expecting it
- Asking for more—not because you’re ungrateful, but because you deserve abundance
This pleasure is yours.
Not because you earned it.
But because you’re alive.
And that’s reason enough.
Let’s Keep the Conversation Going
If this one hit deep—you’re not alone.
You’re not crazy. You’re not selfish. You’re awakening.
Come share your story inside Wealthy Women Conversations where we’re reclaiming softness, redefining wealth, and remembering how to feel good—without shame, without guilt, and without apology.
This pleasure is ours now.
Slower, Wealthier, Happier 
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