How I Rebuilt My Trust (With Help From My Inner Kindergartner)
Trust doesn’t come from discipline. It comes from delight — from remembering the barefoot kid who still lives inside you.
The Day I Re-Met My Kindergartner Self
Somewhere along the line, I stopped trusting my own impulses.
I started waiting for permission to be delighted.
I forgot what it felt like to follow curiosity just because it called my name.
Like any other creative soul, I hit the dreaded wall — that strange, silent space where inspiration refuses to move.
This painting - LAVENDER FIELDS - sat on my easel for weeks. I stared at it, waited, rearranged brushes, made more coffee. Nothing.
And then one morning, I looked around my studio — the brushes, the paint, the unfinished piece leaning against the wall — and realized I’d become too adult about it all. I was trying to get it right.
In this case, getting it right meant making those lavender rows perfect. Straight. Predictable. Controlled.
But no matter what I tried, the painting wouldn’t obey.
That’s when the kindergartner in me knocked on the door.
She didn’t care about straight lines or perfect rows. She wanted to smear lavender with her fingers, to see what happened when color met chaos. She wanted joy, not judgment.
So I let her in.
And together, we made a glorious mess — paint on my hands, laughter in my chest, and a reminder in my bones that art (and life) never bloom from perfection. They bloom from play.
She said, “Hey, remember when we used to draw suns and stars on everything? Remember when color was joy and not judgment?”
I do.
That little girl didn’t worry about who was watching. She didn’t care if her work was good or bad. She just trusted the feeling — the tug in her belly that said this!
And that’s the muscle I had to rebuild these last few years — the muscle of trusting myself.
It’s what saved my art, my business, my sanity, and maybe even my life.
I had to trust that my instincts were wiser than the experts.
I had to trust that my joy mattered. I had to trust that I wasn’t too old to play.
Some days, trusting myself looks like turning the music up and letting paint run off my fingers. Other days, it’s quieter — sitting with coffee, waiting for the next nudge from my soul.
Either way, the kindergartner and I are back together again.
We’re making messes and masterpieces — sometimes both in the same hour.
And that’s the invitation I want to offer you today:
🩷stop editing your joy.
🩷 stop managing your instincts.
🩷 pick up the metaphorical crayon and draw on the damn wall.
Because trust doesn’t come from discipline. It comes from delight.
If you’ve forgotten how to start, I made something for you — a little guide I call “Trust in Yourself.” It’s a gentle way to begin listening again, to rebuild that connection between your grown-up self and the kindergartner who still knows how to play. Shoot me a message, include your email address and I’ll send it to you.
💋 Quiet Gratitude
Every time a woman decides to pay for this work, I feel it. You’re saying, keep going, this matters. Your support helps me reach more women who can’t afford a paid tier but still need the words. That’s what community looks like to me — generosity in motion.
Pink Angel, a radiant expression of tenderness and strength wrapped in a luminous dance of rose, violet, and gold. This piece hums with both softness and courage — a reminder that your light doesn’t have to shout to be undeniable.
Perfect for framing, gifting, or placing anywhere you want to invite a little more beauty and spirit into your daily life.
What you’ll receive:
High-resolution digital file
Sized at 8x10 inches (2400 x 3000 px, 300 dpi)
Ready to print at home or through your favorite print service
Some of us are learning self-trust for the first time.
And you know what? That’s holy work.
To turn toward yourself after decades of turning outward — that’s courage in its purest form.
You don’t need another system. You just need to believe the whisper that says, “You already know.”