I go looking for reassurance. And get hit over the head instead.

On what keeps me stuck, before I even manage to start.

I wake up around 7 a.m. It’s my favorite time of day - my mind is still clear, fresh, open to receiving. A new day, new knowledge, new ideas. Before I even open my eyes, I hear the sea. I live 50 meters from the beach, in Andalusia. No rush here, no city noise - just the sound of water, air still cool from the night, and that particular silence in which you can hear your own thoughts before you get around to judging them.

I get up. Make coffee. Roll out my mat and start my morning workout. And before I’m even fully awake, an idea arrives. Clean, simple, obvious in that moment like nothing else.

So I have everything I need. Quiet. Time. A clear head. A place others would call paradise for creating.

And then the voice speaks up.

Too early to show this. You’re not done yet. Polish it first. And when you show it to the world - what will the response be? What about criticism? Hate? Nobody knows you for this - even though you’ve been writing for years. Except you were writing about consciousness, about love, about spirituality. Now you have to show something else.

I delayed. I stalled. I pulled projects out of the drawer and put them back, because I believed that voice. For too long.

Before I even show up, I’m already seeking approval

Because it doesn’t end with the morning voice in my head. I get a new idea. I call a friend. I tell him about it, casually, as if in passing - but somewhere inside I’m waiting for one sentence:

“Man, go for it. That’s a great idea. You’re good at this. It fits you. I haven’t seen anything like it.”

I’ve done this for years, and only recently did I really see it: I don’t call to share. I call to get wind in my sails. To have someone else confirm what I should, in theory, already know myself.

I’ve wondered where this actually comes from. I see two mechanisms. The first, simpler one: I want to hear that the idea is simply good - plain confirmation of quality. The second, deeper one: I want to share the responsibility. If someone says “go for it,” and something goes wrong - it’s no longer only my mistake. Someone else believed in it too.

The longer I watch this in myself, the more I see that the second one is stronger. Because if it were only about the idea’s quality, one honest “yes, that’s good” would be enough. It isn’t. I keep asking more people, as if collecting votes, not opinions. This isn’t a search for the truth about the idea. It’s a search for someone to carry a piece of the weight with me, before I’ve even started.

And most of the time, I get the opposite.

My wings get clipped, I fall to hard ground, and I cut myself off from myself.

The crash

That’s when the spiral starts. My mind starts looking for confirmation of what it just heard. That it doesn’t make sense. That it’s a weak idea. That it won’t work. That it needs to be different, better. That I lack the resources, the knowledge, the experience.

It gets quiet inside, but it’s not the same quiet as the morning on the beach. It’s a quiet in which nothing is allowed to speak up - no argument, no memory, no “but I’ve done this before.” Only one voice remains, louder than the rest, and it says I’m right to be afraid.

And suddenly all my years of experience, learning, hours of work - become dust in the wind. I feel like I’m not enough. That I’m nobody. That I don’t know what I’m doing. That somewhere there must have been a moment when everyone else learned something I never heard.

Sometimes I catch myself after a moment. Sometimes after a few hours. Sometimes after days, and it’s happened after weeks. But I notice one thing - it’s happening faster now. As if I’m learning to recognize this state before it fully pulls me in.

The turn

Because the truth is, these aren’t my limitations. They’re theirs. The people who tell me I can’t do it are, in that moment, showing me something about themselves - the limits they carry inside, what they’re afraid of, what they never allowed themselves.

When I get there, I start to see myself again. I find proof that my worth doesn’t depend on someone else’s criticism.

The exam only one person passed

Years ago I enrolled in a post-secondary vocational school - IT, specializing in graphic design and multimedia. Three new classes, 25-30 people each. Almost a hundred people at the start, all with the same plan: two years of study, ending in a state exam.

The rule was simple and unforgiving: a school could only sit the exam if at least 7 people finished the program. Fewer than that, and nobody would be admitted. Everyone’s work, all of it, for nothing.

Months passed. The classes shrank. People dropped out, quit, disappeared - for their own reasons, each their own.

I finished it. Alone.

The headmistress conditionally let six more students through, just so the exam could happen at all - so the ones who’d tried at least got a shot at sitting it.

The exam took place. I was the only one who passed.

I’m not writing this to brag. I’m writing it because when someone stands in front of me and says I won’t make it, this story comes back. Not as proof that I’m better. As proof that persistence, on its own, is already a result. And it reminds me that even a small step, if it comes from the heart, has enormous value. Even if you’re the only one taking it.

Back on the beach

It’s 7 a.m. My mind pushes the same sentences again - too early, polish it more, what if there’s hate, nobody knows you in this new role.

This time I hear it. But I don’t fight it.

I listen to it. I look at it closely. I hold it - because I understand where it comes from. This mind has always tried to be my best friend and protector. It wants to shield me from stress, from judgment, from pain - except it does it in advance, guarding me against a future that doesn’t exist yet.

And it only exists now. And tomorrow isn’t dangerous.

So I take a step. Watching how my beloved, vigilant guardian behaves. Not against it. Together with it.

Right now I’m building something that gives others the chance to start from zero, without waiting for anyone’s permission, and without a hammer over their head. More soon.