Permission to want things again.

I do not think I realized how long it had been since I asked myself what I wanted. Not the big dramatic kind of wanting. Not "What is my purpose?" or "What am I doing with the rest of my life?" I mean the tiny everyday kind.

What do I want for breakfast? What do I want to do this Saturday? What book do I actually want to read? What sounds fun to me? What would I choose if nobody else's opinion had to be considered first?

That kind of wanting. And honestly, for a while, I had no idea.

I was not deprived. I had a home. I had Aaron. I had kids I loved into adulthood. I had a life I was grateful for. But somewhere along the way, wanting had gotten very quiet.

I had become so used to choosing what worked, what was easy, what everyone would eat, what fit the budget, what made sense, what kept things moving, that I forgot wanting was even allowed to be part of the conversation.

Then the kids grew up. The house got quieter. The urgent list got shorter. And one morning I stood in my kitchen and realized I did not even know what I wanted for breakfast. I had been eating whatever was easiest for years.

If that made something in you go, "Oh no. Me too," then this one is for you.

The wanting muscle is real, and yes, it gets rusty.

You do not stop wanting things all at once. It happens slowly. You stop buying the flowers because someone needs new shoes. You stop reading at night because by the time everyone is settled, your brain has left the building. You stop planning little things for yourself because planning anything for a whole family already feels like a part-time job.

You stop asking what sounds fun because there is dinner, laundry, appointments, bills, aging parents, sick bodies, work, marriage, kids, grandkids, life, and the one missing sock that apparently lives in another dimension.

So you do what women do. You adjust. You make it work. You hand your wants over in tiny pieces until one day you realize you are not even sure what they are anymore.

Not because you are boring. Not because you lost yourself forever. Not because it is too late. Because the muscle has not been used in a while. And muscles can wake back up. Thank goodness.

Wanting can feel selfish when you are used to being useful.

This is the tricky part. When you have spent years being needed, wanting can feel suspicious. Like, who am I to want this? Who am I to spend money on that? Who am I to take the afternoon, choose the class, book the trip, buy the thing, move the room around, start the project, or say, "Actually, I want something different now"?

It can feel like making a fuss. But here is the truth. Wanting is not selfish. Wanting is human. And for women who have spent decades noticing everyone else, wanting can be one of the first signs that life is coming back into the room.

You are not asking for too much. You are not being ungrateful. You are not taking something away from your family by admitting you have desires of your own. The people you love got to grow. Now you do too.

Start small enough that it does not scare you.

You do not have to begin with a five-year plan. Please do not make this another assignment. Start with dinner. One night this week, ask yourself what you actually want to eat. Not what is easiest. Not what everyone else likes. Not what uses up the chicken before it goes bad, although honestly, respect to the chicken. What would you order if a friend was making you dinner? Make that. Or order it. No speech required. No justification. Just one small choice that says, "I am allowed to want something."

Then try a tiny purchase. The candle. The pen. The flowers. The good moisturizer. The book you keep picking up and putting back down. Not because you need it. Because you want it. There is something strangely powerful about buying one small thing without building a legal case for why you are allowed. Let it be simple. "I wanted this." That is enough.

Plan one hour that belongs to you. Not productive rest. Not a chore wearing lipstick. Not "I finally cleaned the pantry and called it self-care." I mean one hour that has no purpose except that you want it. Sit in a coffee shop. Go to the bookstore. Walk somewhere pretty. Color. Read. Take yourself to lunch. Drive the long way with music on. Sit by the water. Wander through a garden center and pretend you know what half the plants are called.

This is not about impressing anyone. This is about remembering that your life is not only made of responsibilities. There gets to be beauty in it. There gets to be fun. There gets to be a little "because I felt like it."

Let the small wants lead to bigger ones.

When I first started letting myself want again, I thought the big things would come first. Travel. Adventure. A whole reinvention. Some dramatic midlife movie moment where I stand on a cliff in linen pants and finally know who I am. And listen, I am not opposed to the linen pants. But that is not how it started. It started smaller.

I wanted flowers I could pick myself. I wanted a quiet afternoon without explaining what I was doing. I wanted to read books just because the words were beautiful. I wanted to make my home feel like I lived there too. I wanted to sit with women my age who did not need anything from me and just talk about life, ideas, dreams, weird body stuff, marriage, travel, business, and what we are all doing with this next part.

Then the bigger wants came. I wanted to build something of my own. I wanted to make money in a way that did not burn me out. I wanted my name on books. I wanted creativity again. I wanted location freedom. I wanted winters that did not feel like punishment. I wanted a life that felt softer and more alive at the same time.

The small wants came first. They were not silly. They were breadcrumbs.

You are allowed to want new things now.

This part matters. You are allowed to want things you wanted before motherhood. You are allowed to want things you never got to try because life got full. You are allowed to want things that do not make sense to anyone else.

You are allowed to want rest. You are allowed to want adventure. You are allowed to want beauty. You are allowed to want money. You are allowed to want a room of your own. You are allowed to want your body to feel strong again. You are allowed to want peace in your marriage. You are allowed to want friendships that feel easy. You are allowed to want to be seen outside your family.

You are allowed to want to create, travel, learn, build, laugh, wear the dress, take the class, start the thing, stop the thing, change your mind, and try again.

Wanting does not mean you are unhappy with what you had. It means you are still here. Still becoming. Still curious. Still alive. And that is a beautiful thing.

The honest part

There may be a little guilt at first. Of course there is. A lot of us were trained, directly or quietly, to believe a good woman asks what everyone else needs before she asks what she wants. So when you start wanting again, it might feel awkward. You might overexplain. You might apologize. You might make the thing smaller than it is.

That is okay. Start anyway. You do not have to become wildly confident overnight. You just have to practice listening to the little voice that says, "Actually, I would like that." That voice is not selfish. That voice is not too much. That voice is you coming back online.

A small place to put the want

If this is the season you are in, I made something for you. Color Your Next Chapter is a reflection journal for women who are remembering they are allowed to want again after years of carrying, loving, doing, noticing, managing, and putting themselves last without even realizing it.

It is for the woman asking: What do I like now? What do I want to try? What would feel beautiful, fun, restful, creative, adventurous, or mine?

There is also a free starter kit if you want a smaller place to begin. A coloring page, a few gentle prompts, and little reminders that you are allowed to take up space in your own life again. No pressure. No "fix your whole life by Friday." Just a small, quiet invitation to want something again. And maybe even enjoy it.

With grace for the wanting and excitement for what comes next,
Jill