Being Myself: Finding Joy Without Permission

There’s a photo on my refrigerator that I’ve had there since 2009. It’s of me in Liberia, Africa, surrounded by children with wide, bright smiles, teaching me how to use a slingshot. I had just pointed it at myself by accident, and they were completely delighted. I can imagine what they were thinking: That silly white woman.

I don’t keep this picture on my fridge because I forget what I look like or because I’m obsessed with myself. I keep it there for one reason: I am clapping and laughing in that moment, completely un-self-conscious. I didn’t even know I was being photographed. When I look at it now, I see joy—pure, unguarded joy.

It’s worth reflecting on how rare that kind of joy is for many of us. A few years before this photo, I had an entirely different experience with joy being tempered by others. I had driven home through a torrential rainstorm, pouring like a waterfall from the roof because our house didn’t have the awning I’d been asking for. I ran through the sheet of water to the side door, laughing, letting the rain soak me through. Life felt wild and fun in that moment.

And then I stepped inside and was met with someone who disapproved. He didn’t like my laughter, my exuberance, my delight in being alive. He corrected me, scolded me, even made me feel embarrassed for showing joy. I wasn’t yelling. I wasn’t being reckless. I was just…happy. But in that house, happiness was apparently a problem.

That contrast—the photo in Liberia versus the rain-soaked moment at home—reminds me of something profound: the people we live with, especially in intimate spaces, can either allow our joy or suppress it. For years, I lived with someone who made me feel wrong for being happy. Someone who wished I were quieter, less expressive, less me. And for years, I doubted my right to joy.

Now, I live differently. I keep that picture on my refrigerator as a daily reminder that no one here can make me feel small for being myself. No one can scold me, shame me, or tell me to temper my joy. I live in a home where my happiness isn’t a threat to anyone. Where laughter is celebrated instead of silenced. Where being myself is not just allowed—it’s encouraged.

Learning to be yourself is a lifelong journey. It’s about noticing the places in your life where your joy has been stifled and making the conscious choice to reclaim it. It’s about trusting that your laughter, your delight, your quirks, and your full self are not just acceptable—they are gifts to those around you.

I don’t need permission to be joyful. I don’t need validation to clap my hands or let out a whoop in the rain. That woman in Liberia, laughing at herself without fear, is still inside me. And she is free.

So today, look at your own refrigerator, your desk, your journal, or your phone. Find a reminder of the person you are when no one is telling you to be small. Let that person teach you how to reclaim your joy, one laugh, one clapping hand, one wild, unapologetic whoop at a time. Because being yourself is not just an act of courage—it’s a revolution for your soul.

For more stories like this, check out my newest e-book, Stories Only Strangers Can See. (But only if you’re a stranger…😉)