Parenting Yourself

You don't design your future in advance; you discover it through thoughtful experimentation.

Yesterday I disappeared into a poem. My poem.

Three hours passed while I translated it into English, slowly, attentively, listening for the moment when the words stopped sounding correct and began sounding true. I don't remember deciding to do this. The day simply opened, and I stepped inside. One rhyme led to another, one syllable insisted on being replaced, until the English version began to breathe with the same pulse as the Russian original.

Halfway through, a voice interrupted.

Nadia, why are you doing this? What is the point? Will this be published? Used? Shown to anyone?

I had no answer that would satisfy the voice. What I had was absorption. Silence. That rare state where time loses its edges. And yet, guilt arrived, right on schedule. The familiar discomfort of having spent hours without producing anything quantifiable. As if joy, unaccompanied by proof, were somehow illicit.

When I shared this unease with my daughter, she didn't hesitate.

"Mom, are you serious? Why does everything have to be measured? Can't you just enjoy what you're doing?"

Her words landed cleanly. Almost painfully.

That was when I realized I wasn't questioning the activity. I was waiting for permission.

I'm a grown woman. Whose approval could I possibly be seeking?

The answer surfaced reluctantly: my own inner censor. The one who demands justification. The one who guards the gate and asks for receipts. The one who allows pleasure only if it comes with credentials. If there must be a result, I told myself, then let it be this: joy. Fulfillment. The quiet satisfaction of having made something honest.

Still, the permission did not come easily. Doubts circled. Is this allowed? Is this irresponsible? Is this a waste? It felt strangely familiar, that posture of waiting. As children, we look to our parents. Later, to the bosses. To partners. And now, apparently, to an internal authority who has learned to speak in our own voice.

What followed was a small internal negotiation. My inner child and inner adult stood together, asking the inner parent to loosen her grip. The Efficiency Mother Queen, tireless and vigilant, resisted, then relented. And when she did, something old and almost forgotten returned.

A childish, weightless joy. The kind that needs no witnesses. The kind you feel when you jump on a bed simply because you can, because no one is watching, and no one needs to know.

Those who are wired this way naturally might smile at this confession. For others, especially an ENTJ, this is not a given. It is a territory claimed inch by inch. One unproductive afternoon at a time.

Before you go:

What is your inner censor withholding permission for right now?

And what would it feel like to simply begin, without waiting for the receipt?

With intention,

Nadia Granski