I got rejected today. Third time this week.

And for about 30 seconds, my brain tried to convince me that meant something about who I am.

But a recent conversation prepped me to redirect this thought.

She said: “You have to believe you’re worthy before the world says so.” And I’ve been thinking about that ever since, because most of us are walking around waiting to be chosen. I know it rings true for my life, I wrote a whole book on waiting to be chosen and validated by someone or something.

Chosen in relationships.
Chosen for the job.
Chosen for the opportunity.
Chosen to be seen, validated, and approved.

We don’t always say it out loud, actually we barely say it out loud but it shows up in how we move.

We attach our worth to the outcome, right? “If they pick me, I must be good enough.” “If they don’t, something must be wrong with me.” We allow someone else to decide how worthy we are.

And that’s where things start to get heavy. Because if your worth is tied to being chosen, then every rejection starts to feel like proof that you’re not enough. And that’s a dangerous place to live.

I know this feeling well.

I’m going to say this a bit louder than usual, not because you need it but because I do and I need this really click this time.

You are not required to keep living a life you no longer want just because you once chose it.

And not that you need the permission, but let me say this so you can start to believe it:

You are allowed to change your mind.

About the relationship.
About the job.
About the city.
About the investment.
About the version of you that said yes in the first place.

And it does not mean it was a waste.

The moment we think something isn’t for us anymore, this thought creeps in:

“I just wasted so much time.”
“I can’t believe I spent that much money.”
“I put years into this.”
“I should just stick it out.”

We treat time, money, and effort like they’re receipts we need to justify.

For a long time, being alone felt like proof that I wasn’t wanted.

It was a reason why I ended my first marriage.

There was a time when being alone felt uncomfortable. Exposed. Like something was missing. If I had an event, a trip, a dinner, a social gathering, I wanted a plus one, I needed one.

I was traveling alone for work.
Going to events alone.
Building a life that required visibility and presence.

I had a husband at home. He just didn’t want to come.

At the time, that felt personal. It felt like rejection or like something was wrong, either with him or with me. I resented it.

What I didn’t understand then was…I didn’t actually know how to be alone.

“Good on paper” is a theme I’ve carried for a long time.

When I realized that in three simple words I could explain what I’ve been thinking, what I’ve been feeling… it clicked. It’s catchy. It makes you curious.

But when when I think deeper about it, it all boils down to this question worth asking yourself:

It might look good on paper.
But does it feel good?

That’s where we go deeper.

This is why I called this blog ‘Good on Paper’ and while the theme surrounds everything I do.

These aren’t surface-level conversations.
These are the thoughts I have at 7 or 8 a.m., walking through the forest with my dog, recording voice notes before the world gets loud.

We all know what “good on paper” looks like because we’ve been trained to chase it.

I spent years chasing things that, if I’m really honest, were never meant for me. I mean, I wrote a whole book about all the things and people I chased.

I chased relationships that required me to shrink.
I chased approval from people who weren’t even right for me.
I chased career paths because they looked successful, not because they felt aligned.

And every time I wasn’t chosen, I made it mean something about my worth.

Because when you tie your value to being picked, every “no” feels like a final decision.

For a long time, I thought I was the issue.

My hair was “too frizzy.”
My skin was “just like this.”
Too dry. Too oily. Too sensitive. Never quite right.

Stay with me here, I’m not actually just talking about my hair or skin. There’s more to this.

I assumed my body was the problem instead of looking at what I was putting on it, how I was using it, or whether the tools I’d chosen actually suited me. Then something small changed.

I started switching things out.

A different hairbrush.
Different products.
A new way of caring for my skin.
Even, a different makeup sponge and how I used it.

Suddenly, my hair wasn’t the problem. My skin wasn’t the problem.

The way I had been approaching them was.

If you are sitting at your desk, staring at a blank screen, trying to “be creative,” I’m going to gently tell you something you might not want to hear.

You’re probably not going to find it there.

Creativity does not arrive because you scheduled it in your calendar, opened your laptop, and forced yourself to produce something. It does not show up on command. It does not live inside your phone, your analytics, or your to-do list.

Creativity shows up when you stop trying so hard.

Okay, this is going to sound a little bossy, but since no one is saying it out loud, I guess I will.

Stop gatekeeping what you created.

I say that with love, but also with clarity, because I see so many people, including myself at times, sitting on something really good and barely talking about it.

You made something meaningful. A product, a service, an offer, a workshop, a book, a creative project, a business, or an idea you truly believe in. You poured time, energy, and care into it. You probably created it because you had a problem you needed to solve, a gap you wanted filled, or a frustration you wished didn’t exist.

And then when it came time to share it, you got quiet.

I’m deciding right out of the gate that 2026 gets to feel lighter.

Not easier because life suddenly becomes perfect. But easier because I’m done making it harder than it needs to be.

Life is already unpredictable. Messy. Surprising. And at times, uncomfortable. None of us get to control that part.

What we do get to control is how we move through it.

How we show up.
What we say yes to.
What we keep around us.
What we put into our bodies, minds, and hearts.
What we tolerate.
What we complicate and what we simplify.

Nobody likes being sold to. Including me. And I’ve spent years working in sales.

Most of us already know what we want. And when we don’t, being told we need something by a stranger on the internet usually isn’t what changes our mind.

What actually matters is understanding where something came from, who it’s for, and whether the person behind it understands the problem we’re trying to solve.

That’s where things start to get messy.