Can I tell you something that feels more vulnerable than I expected?
Wanting something.
Really wanting it.
Not casually thinking, “That would be nice.”
Not adding something to a list of someday-maybes.
I mean allowing yourself to say:
I want this.
I want to build something.
I want to change something.
I want to create.
I want to go somewhere.
I want a deeper relationship.
I want meaningful work.
I want to try.
I want something different for my life.
Those words sound simple.
But I’ve realized how much courage they require.
Because the moment I admit that I want something…
I also have to acknowledge that I might not get it.
It’s Hard to Disappoint Yourself When You Don’t Hope for Much
There is a strange kind of safety in keeping expectations low.
If you don’t hope…
you can’t be disappointed.
If you don’t try…
you can’t fail.
If you never tell anyone what you want…
you don’t have to explain why it didn’t happen.
If you never allow yourself to imagine something different…
you can tell yourself you never really wanted it anyway.
I’ve done this.
Sometimes consciously.
Sometimes without realizing it.
I’ve minimized things I cared about.
Acted casual about things that mattered.
Told myself,
“We’ll see.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t really care either way.”
When, underneath all of that, I did care.
I was just scared to admit how much.
Hope Gives Us Something to Lose
We’ve talked about this already with joy.
The moment we love something, we become vulnerable to losing it.
Dreams work the same way.
Hope creates risk.
If I hope something will happen, I may have to grieve if it doesn’t.
If I try something, I might fail.
If I put something I’ve created into the world, people may not care.
If I change direction, I might discover I chose wrong.
If I pray boldly for something, God’s answer may not look anything like the one I wanted.
So sometimes we protect ourselves by wanting less.
But I’m beginning to wonder:
How much of our lives do we miss trying to avoid disappointment?
There Was a Time I Couldn’t Imagine a Future
This is what makes wanting something feel particularly significant to me.
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine much beyond surviving.
My world had become very small.
Addiction does that.
Shame does that.
Everything becomes about managing today.
Managing consequences.
Managing people’s perceptions.
Managing pain.
Managing yourself.
There wasn’t much room for dreaming.
And when I entered recovery, I wasn’t immediately dreaming about some beautiful future either.
I was trying to make it through the day.
Trying to rebuild trust.
Trying to learn how to tell the truth.
Trying to become someone my family could depend on again.
Those were big enough dreams.
But now?
Sometimes I catch myself imagining things.
Things I want to create.
Places I want to go.
Ways I want our family to live.
Work that might feel meaningful.
People I might help.
Things I haven’t tried yet.
And every once in a while, I realize what a miracle that is.
The woman who once couldn’t see a future has started making plans for one.
Wanting Something Doesn’t Mean I’m Entitled to It
This has been an important distinction for me.
Allowing myself to want something doesn’t mean believing God owes it to me.
It doesn’t mean every dream is a calling.
It doesn’t mean every door will open.
It doesn’t mean wanting something badly enough will make it happen.
Sometimes the answer will be no.
Sometimes we’ll work incredibly hard and still fail.
Sometimes circumstances will change.
Sometimes what we thought we wanted won’t actually be good for us.
Sometimes God will redirect us.
Sometimes there may never be a satisfying explanation.
Faith isn’t believing everything I want will happen.
Faith is trusting God enough to be honest about what I want…
and still leaving my hands open.
That’s hard.
I would much rather have guarantees.
But guarantees aren’t really faith.
I Don’t Want Fear Making My Decisions Anymore
There are plenty of reasons not to try something.
Some of them are wise.
Timing matters.
Finances matter.
Responsibilities matter.
Other people can be affected by our decisions.
Discernment matters.
But fear has a remarkable ability to dress itself up as wisdom.
“Be realistic.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“You’re too late.”
“Someone else already does it better.”
“What if you fail?”
“What will people think?”
Those thoughts can sound responsible.
Sometimes they’re simply fear asking us to stay small.
And I’m learning to ask myself:
Am I saying no because this isn’t right for me—or because wanting it makes me vulnerable?
Those are very different things.
Maybe Failure Isn’t the Worst Outcome
I used to think failure was something to avoid.
Now I’m not so sure.
I’ve already survived failure.
Real failure.
The kind that affected people I loved.
The kind that forced me to confront things about myself I desperately wanted to avoid.
And somehow…
I’m still here.
Maybe failure doesn’t have the power over me that I once thought it did.
If I try something and it doesn’t work…
I’ll learn.
If I create something and nobody cares…
I’ll still have created it.
If I take a risk and discover it wasn’t right…
I can change direction.
If I hope for something and I’m disappointed…
I can grieve.
I know how to do that now.
Recovery has given me tools I didn’t have before.
Maybe courage isn’t believing things will work out exactly the way I want.
Maybe courage is realizing:
Even if they don’t, I trust the woman I’ve become to walk through it.
Dreams Don’t Have to Become Hustle
I want to say this because I know myself.
The second I decide I want something, I can turn it into a project.
Research.
Plan.
Optimize.
Create the checklist.
Set the goal.
Figure out how to get there faster.
Suddenly the beautiful little spark of desire becomes another measure of whether I’m doing enough.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
Some dreams need action.
But sometimes a dream needs room before it needs a plan.
Sometimes we need to sit with:
“I think I might want this.”
Let ourselves imagine.
Pray about it.
Talk about it with safe people.
See what grows.
Not every desire needs to become a five-year plan by Tuesday.
We’re allowed to be curious.
We’re allowed to explore.
We’re allowed to change our minds.
We’re allowed to discover that something we thought we wanted doesn’t actually fit anymore.
That’s not failure either.
That’s honesty.
An Invitation
So I’m not asking you to make a vision board.
I’m not asking you to set ten goals.
I’m not asking you to quit your job, start a business, book a flight, or reinvent your entire life.
I’m asking something quieter.
What would you allow yourself to want if you didn’t need a guarantee that it would happen?
Don’t judge the answer.
Don’t immediately figure out whether it’s realistic.
Don’t turn it into a plan yet.
Just tell the truth.
Maybe you want deeper friendships.
Maybe you want to create something.
Maybe you want to travel.
Maybe you want a different career.
Maybe you want more time with your family.
Maybe you want to go back to school.
Maybe you want to write.
Maybe you want a quieter life.
Maybe you want adventure.
Maybe you don’t know yet.
That’s okay.
The point isn’t the answer.
The point is allowing yourself to ask.
A Final Thought
For a long time, hope felt dangerous to me.
Hope asked me to imagine something beyond what I could see.
And after enough disappointment, keeping expectations low can feel like wisdom.
But I don’t want fear deciding the size of my life.
I don’t want to reach the end of it and realize I avoided disappointment so successfully that I also avoided possibility.
I want to care.
I want to try.
I want to dream.
I want to pray bold prayers while holding the answers loosely.
I want to create things that might fail.
I want to pursue things that might change.
I want to be willing to say:
This matters to me.
Even when saying it makes me vulnerable.
Especially then.
Because maybe being fully alive isn’t getting everything we want.
Maybe it’s becoming brave enough to want again.
To hope again.
To try again.
And to trust that disappointment, if it comes, won’t destroy us.
We’ve survived too much to spend the rest of our lives hiding from possibility.
Scripture doesn’t pretend disappointment doesn’t hurt.
Neither should we.
Hope deferred does hurt.
Things we deeply want may not happen.
Prayers may be answered differently than we imagined.
Dreams may change.
But I don’t think the answer is to stop hoping.
I think the invitation is to hold our desires honestly before God…
without making their fulfillment the condition for our peace.
So I’m learning to pray differently:
God, this is what I want.
I’m scared to admit how much I want it.
I don’t know what You’re going to do with it.
But I trust You enough to tell You the truth.
And then…
I open my hands.
Because after spending years trying not to feel anything too deeply…
there is something profoundly alive about finally caring again.
Leave a Reply