I always wanted to begin. I chased everything in my life with this restless, burning desire — just to feel like I was finally starting a personal project. So many times, I wished for it.

But I’m not going to talk about a big, dramatic moment when It happened. Because honestly — it wasn’t like that. It was simple. Nothing special. No one was there. But for the first time, it was me. And I felt it — even if very quietly. The quiet self, without all the noise from traumas and ambitions.

I wanted a MacBook. I wanted a perfect visual identity and a convincing tone of voice. But instead, I was sitting somewhere in South America, trying to build something online that didn’t really make sense. Or I was shaping some version of myself I later let go of. So really, there was nothing to build on.

I waited for the final vision to come alive — as if only then I could begin.

I remember sitting in front of this website — the one that’s frustrated me for two years now — wondering if I should just delete it. Start again. Maybe buy a simple blog template. Nothing fancy. Just write.

But I had already tried that. And I couldn’t accept how unfinished it felt. Still, the idea of letting go was tempting.

What if I just erased the whole struggle?
What if I let it all go?
Nothing was working anyway.

Then I thought:

“Even if I delete it ten times, I’ll still come back and try again the eleventh.”

Because the need to write — it stays.
It doesn’t go away.
It keeps pulling me forward.

So I gave it one more try. And I finally fixed one small technical thing that had stopped me from writing for over a year. And I knew this was exactly one of those moments, when a miracle happens a moment after you decide not to give up for the million-and-first time.

Success that comes a moment before surrender — and not a second sooner.

Why did it take so long? I don’t know. Maybe old pain. A lot of unspoken, unexplained thoughts about myself. And most of all — the body’s memory. A nervous system that literally kept me stuck, unable to move.

I thought I was doing enough. I was always pushing.

I wanted to live in South America — so I went.
I wanted to open an online store — so I started one.
I wanted love — real love — so I looked for it.

But none of those impressive changes gave me the peace I needed to truly begin. So this is what I want to say:

Take it easy. You’ll want it to be perfect. Right from the start. And no, you won’t settle for less. Never. And no, structure and to-do lists don’t work for you — they suffocate you, they kill any movement and joy.

But one day, you’ll find your own way. You’ll find your own thoughts. And they will feel right. Not because they’re loud. But because they come from a quiet place.

Not from fear.
Not from confusion.
Not from the things you never healed.

They’ll come from stillness.

I wish beginnings looked like that — polished, clear, obvious. But the real ones are soft and almost invisible.

A hundred new beginnings. A hundred times it didn’t work. But also — the next step. The one that brought me a little closer to myself.

I don’t want to make this sound bigger than it is. But I feel it deeply.

I don’t know why it took so long.
I wish I had started earlier.
But maybe now is the right time.
Even with everything it cost.

Maybe this touched something in you. All I really wanted to say is something simple:

It’s exhausting to carry a bruised self through the world — with a nervous system that shuts down every time you touch a sensitive spot, and dreams that look golden… but are useless in that paralyzed state. Because in that state of mind and heart, even the smallest dream feels impossible.