The Moment I Stopped Asking for Permission to Trust Myself
It didn’t happen all at once.
It rarely does.
But there was a moment... quiet and unremarkable on the surface—where something in me broke away from an old pattern. I was standing in a conversation I’d had a hundred times before. The topic didn’t matter. What mattered was that familiar feeling creeping in... the one where I start explaining myself, softening my words, framing everything with “I could be wrong, but…”
And for the first time, I didn’t do it.
I didn’t pad my insight with apology.
I didn’t wait to see if they’d nod in agreement.
I didn’t dilute the truth to make it more digestible.
I just said what I knew—calm, clear, and still.
And something in me shifted.
That moment was a turning point, not because I convinced anyone else, but because I stopped needing to.
For years, I’d been outsourcing my trust to the people around me. Waiting for the green light. The affirmation. The safety that came with someone saying, “Yeah, I feel that too.”
But deep down, I already knew. I always had.
I wasn’t looking for guidance.
I was looking for permission.
And when you live like that long enough, it’s easy to confuse the two.
I’ve learned something strange about trusting yourself:
The more you ask for permission to do it, the harder it becomes.
Because you’re reinforcing the idea that your knowing needs validation.
But intuition doesn’t work that way.
It doesn’t need a second opinion.
It’s not arrogant to trust what you feel.
It’s alignment.
And yet, many of us—myself included—spend years walking on eggshells around our own insight.
We check ourselves.
We rephrase things.
We hesitate—not because we’re unsure, but because we’ve been trained to believe self-trust is dangerous. That it’s selfish. That it will make us look foolish if we’re wrong.
But here’s the thing:
You don’t have to be perfect to be present.
You don’t have to be infallible to be intuitive.
You just have to be willing to stand in your own knowing, even when it’s quiet. Even when no one claps.
The truth is, not everyone will understand your certainty.
Especially when you can’t explain it.
And that used to terrify me.
What if they think I’m just making it up?
What if they think I’m being dramatic?
What if I lose respect, trust, credibility?
But now I see it differently.
If trusting myself makes someone uncomfortable...
That’s not mine to carry.
Because I know what it costs to ignore myself.
And I’m done paying that price.
I’m not saying I never question things anymore.
I do. All the time.
But there’s a difference between self-reflection and self-abandonment.
There’s a difference between being open to insight and constantly waiting for permission.
The moment I stopped asking for it, my entire relationship with intuition changed.
It became less about being right.
And more about being real.
Less about proving something.
And more about honoring what I feel—even if it’s not convenient.
Especially if it’s not convenient.
That one moment in that ordinary conversation—where I didn’t ask for permission—might’ve seemed small to anyone watching.
But inside, it was a doorway.
It was the first step through a gate I didn’t know I’d been waiting to open.
And once I stepped through, I couldn’t go back.
Because you don’t un-feel truth.
You just stop pretending it’s not there.
So here’s what I’d offer you, if you’re standing in that same space:
If you’re hesitating to trust your gut because no one else gets it yet…
If you keep softening your voice to be more palatable…
If you’re waiting for the “right” moment to speak or act or shift…
Ask yourself this:
What would it feel like to stop asking for permission?
What would change if you just… trusted yourself?
Not loudly. Not aggressively. Not as a statement to prove.
Just quietly. Fully.
Without flinching.
That’s where it begins.
And that moment—when you stop waiting for the nod, the approval, the co-sign—isn’t about rebellion.
It’s about return.
And if you hear something stir—something simple, something soft...
Don’t dismiss it.
That’s where it starts.
That’s where it always starts.
Derek Wolf
If something in this spoke to you, there’s more waiting.
I write, interact, and teach more deeply over at www.L2Bintuitive.com—where we explore how to actually live what you feel.
It didn’t happen all at once.
It rarely does.
But there was a moment... quiet and unremarkable on the surface—where something in me broke away from an old pattern. I was standing in a conversation I’d had a hundred times before. The topic didn’t matter. What mattered was that familiar feeling creeping in... the one where I start explaining myself, softening my words, framing everything with “I could be wrong, but…”
And for the first time, I didn’t do it.
I didn’t pad my insight with apology.
I didn’t wait to see if they’d nod in agreement.
I didn’t dilute the truth to make it more digestible.
I just said what I knew—calm, clear, and still.
And something in me shifted.
That moment was a turning point, not because I convinced anyone else, but because I stopped needing to.
For years, I’d been outsourcing my trust to the people around me. Waiting for the green light. The affirmation. The safety that came with someone saying, “Yeah, I feel that too.”
But deep down, I already knew. I always had.
I wasn’t looking for guidance.
I was looking for permission.
And when you live like that long enough, it’s easy to confuse the two.
I’ve learned something strange about trusting yourself:
The more you ask for permission to do it, the harder it becomes.
Because you’re reinforcing the idea that your knowing needs validation.
But intuition doesn’t work that way.
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It doesn’t require backup.It doesn’t need a second opinion.
It’s not arrogant to trust what you feel.
It’s alignment.
And yet, many of us—myself included—spend years walking on eggshells around our own insight.
We check ourselves.
We rephrase things.
We hesitate—not because we’re unsure, but because we’ve been trained to believe self-trust is dangerous. That it’s selfish. That it will make us look foolish if we’re wrong.
But here’s the thing:
You don’t have to be perfect to be present.
You don’t have to be infallible to be intuitive.
You just have to be willing to stand in your own knowing, even when it’s quiet. Even when no one claps.
The truth is, not everyone will understand your certainty.
Especially when you can’t explain it.
And that used to terrify me.
What if they think I’m just making it up?
What if they think I’m being dramatic?
What if I lose respect, trust, credibility?
But now I see it differently.
If trusting myself makes someone uncomfortable...
That’s not mine to carry.
Because I know what it costs to ignore myself.
And I’m done paying that price.
I’m not saying I never question things anymore.
I do. All the time.
But there’s a difference between self-reflection and self-abandonment.
There’s a difference between being open to insight and constantly waiting for permission.
The moment I stopped asking for it, my entire relationship with intuition changed.
It became less about being right.
And more about being real.
Less about proving something.
And more about honoring what I feel—even if it’s not convenient.
Especially if it’s not convenient.
That one moment in that ordinary conversation—where I didn’t ask for permission—might’ve seemed small to anyone watching.
But inside, it was a doorway.
It was the first step through a gate I didn’t know I’d been waiting to open.
And once I stepped through, I couldn’t go back.
Because you don’t un-feel truth.
You just stop pretending it’s not there.
So here’s what I’d offer you, if you’re standing in that same space:
If you’re hesitating to trust your gut because no one else gets it yet…
If you keep softening your voice to be more palatable…
If you’re waiting for the “right” moment to speak or act or shift…
Ask yourself this:
What would it feel like to stop asking for permission?
What would change if you just… trusted yourself?
Not loudly. Not aggressively. Not as a statement to prove.
Just quietly. Fully.
Without flinching.
That’s where it begins.
And that moment—when you stop waiting for the nod, the approval, the co-sign—isn’t about rebellion.
It’s about return.
And if you hear something stir—something simple, something soft...
Don’t dismiss it.
That’s where it starts.
That’s where it always starts.
Derek Wolf
If something in this spoke to you, there’s more waiting.
I write, interact, and teach more deeply over at www.L2Bintuitive.com—where we explore how to actually live what you feel.
Read These Next:
Why I Still Question Myself
I Wasn’t Wrong—Just Early
I Felt It Before I Knew It
When I Got Quiet Enough
Stopped Asking for Permission
Why Most People Miss the Signs
I Don’t Need to Be Right. I Need to Be Aligned.
I’m Not Always Peaceful, But I Am Always Listening
Some Lessons Don’t Come in Words
I Didn’t Plan Any of This. I Just Followed It.
I’ve Shared My Steps. Now It’s Your Turn.
