It's ok to lie. It's ok to cut out the parts that do not enhance your dream creation. Get your scissors, it's time to cut some cloth and stitch up some boundaries.
For me, truth operates like a personal vendetta to avenge the necessity to hide my inner self. I prefer to tell my truth, despite its ugliness or any improper timing of it's disclosure. Defiantly, I leave doors wide open to prove my lifestyle is informed by my desires, not the social parameters at large. But alas, an uncomfortable life you lead when truth is your reigning creed. There are so many competing versions. In the end, the sun beats down hot and a protective shade helps a lot.
Without a sewing machine (nor any real desire to obtain one), I committed to hand stitching a set of curtains. Sturdy brown fabric cut, I set my scissors aside and threaded the needle. Stitch by stitch I reflect...
I'm tired. To remain in a constant reactionary state against existing restrictions of awareness fatigues me. By that, I mean that doors close to many quite natural means of self expression. Like going the long route home because I want to see the abuelos at their afternoon hangout. I want to see them and wave. And I do not want to be judged for this small joy that wastes time and a little gas. Oddities provide personal strength to keep on. And so this truth vendetta must die.
It's ok to lie. It's ok to keep my fantasies and dreams to myself. It's ok to deny entry to people with expired full access passes. The curtain will be drawn to them, just as soon as I finish this last stitch. They know a different version of me. They earned entry to a past attraction. They must earn access again.
My hand slips and the needle pricks my skin. I see a blood droplet drip on the fabric but I'm numb. Turns out I was already in pain.
Self love resonates privately, and uncaring glances act like the dampening blanket that dismissiveness is. I want to respect my flourishing. I want to spend so much time on making these curtains that all my anxieties are thread in. And when I look at them blowing in the wind at the door frame, I want to feel seen.
Too many corrective voices dulled potentiality. They're scared of what I see, for some reason, and after their doubt seeps into my pores I lose my sight too. My eyes are covered now and I feel cold. This fear can take a heavy toll.
Sometimes friends or family cannot see who you are after growing apart, and you have to play the waiting game. Eventually they may see your current adaptation, maybe... But it lies on me to design my life. It lies on me to distance. These two hands stitch the curtains. And this inner voice no longer lies to herself to keep dissenting voices satiated. I alone will be my best advocate.
For the time being, I allow these relations to be touch-and-go. I pull back the curtain and allow a little hope. Will they gently walk into my home?
Now I see why a little secrecy is healthy. The eyes that hastily discern are no longer my concern. Creative space will be honoured in my home. I still love to keep my doors wide open, however. It just took a long time to understand what boundaries I wanted to create. And now they sway, letting in cool breezes and warm sun rays.
No doubt haters will hate, armed with stifling blankets to throw, dripping in dissent. Here, in my home, we shake off the doubt-droplets with haste and move on to whatever we want to create. No reasonable doubts are permitted past the curtains. We must remember: it's none of their damn business, social repercussions don't fit into the beauty of the plans we weave.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Julia Rae and writers in Motivation and other communities.
Pleat Let Me Go
How do you feel? How does completing a project that took about a year and a half of talk and only 20 minutes of real work make you feel? Exactly. Different. The former usually involves a few factors, an ethereal matter. The latter weighs you down something fierce.
By Julia Rae5 years ago in Motivation
How I earn $100 in a day
There was a time when earning $100 in a single day felt like a fantasy to me. Not a goal — a fantasy. I remember staring at my phone late at night, doing small mental calculations: If I earn $5 today and $10 tomorrow, maybe by the end of the month… Even those numbers weren’t guaranteed. Some days, nothing came in at all. And that silence — the absence of notifications, emails, or messages — was louder than failure. People online love to talk about success like it’s loud and shiny. For me, it was quiet. Heavy. Full of doubt. The day I earned $100 didn’t begin with excitement. It began like every other day: tired eyes, a slow morning, and a question I kept asking myself — Is this even worth it? What kept me going wasn’t motivation. It was necessity. I didn’t suddenly become smarter or more talented. I didn’t discover a secret website or a hidden trick. I simply stopped waiting for the “perfect” moment and started using what I already had. I offered small digital work. Simple things. Work that wouldn’t impress anyone on social media — but work that people genuinely needed. And I did it sincerely. That day, the first payment came in early. It wasn’t big. Just enough to remind me that someone trusted me with their money. That feeling mattered more than the amount. Later, while I was offline, something unexpected happened. A digital product I had created earlier — something I almost didn’t upload because I thought it wasn’t good enough — sold. Then it sold again. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, unsure whether to smile or stay calm. By evening, another small task came my way. Then one more. None of these moments felt dramatic. No fireworks. No victory music. Just quiet confirmations that effort, even imperfect effort, still counts. When I finally added everything together late at night, my heart paused. It crossed $100. I didn’t jump. I didn’t celebrate. I just sat there — still — because for the first time, the number felt real. What hit me hardest wasn’t the money. It was the realization that I had been underestimating myself for a long time. I believed earning like this was reserved for “others” — more confident people, more skilled people, luckier people. That belief was wrong. Earning $100 in a day didn’t change my life instantly. But it changed something inside me. It replaced doubt with proof. And proof is powerful. Now I understand something important: money doesn’t always come from doing big things. Sometimes it comes from doing small things consistently and with sincerity. Some days I still don’t reach $100. Some days are quiet again. But the fear is gone. Because once you know something is possible, it stops being a dream and starts being a process. I no longer wait for motivation. I work, even when I feel unsure. I trust that effort never disappears — it just takes time to show itself. If you’re reading this while feeling stuck, tired, or invisible, I want you to know something honestly: You’re not behind. You’re just early in your story. And one ordinary day — without warning — things can start to add up.
By Shah Fayaz 4 days ago in Motivation
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.