When AI Critique Feels Personal

Every time I saw someone critique the use of AI, it used to feel personal. They said forests were cut, water was wasted, and CO₂ emissions were rising. I felt like a villain just for chatting with ChatGPT — as if their words were aimed right at me. Guilt and shame would rise in my body. I’d freeze. I’d even start questioning my own morals for using AI in my creative process.

It felt like becoming that little five-year-old girl again — the one who was told her limits, told what she shouldn’t do, who she shouldn’t be.

Back then, I thought following the rules would keep me safe.

In reality, they kept me small.

That’s why this conversation about AI isn’t just intellectual for me — it’s personal.

It touches my creativity, my self-worth, and my freedom to explore.

Perspective Beyond the Headlines

I don’t believe that everything with negative consequences must be cut down. If we operated on that logic, humans would be first to go.

Here’s some perspective:

• Humans collectively consume ~172,000 TWh of energy each year.

• All the world’s data centers (including AI, cloud, streaming, and crypto) use about 415–460 TWh — roughly 1.5–2% of global electricity.

• Even if AI’s share grows to 4% by 2030, it will still be a small fraction of overall human energy use.

If we eliminated everything with a negative footprint, AI wouldn’t even make the top ten list.

But is that really the way forward — to think in black and white, eliminating everything with consequences?

I’ve Seen Both Sides

I used to work as an engineer and project manager in the oil and gas industry.

I was right at the source — where we drilled deep underground to extract natural resources. That crude oil and gas traveled downstream to power our electricity, fuel our cars, and become the plastics that are part of nearly every piece of technology today.

I’ve seen the impact up close.

I’ve seen our company attacked by outsiders for the harm caused by fossil fuels. Everyone involved was labeled as a supporter of the devil.

And I’ve felt the weight of knowing those criticisms weren’t baseless.

But I’ve also seen how those same resources powered human evolution.

Without them, we wouldn’t have the technology, infrastructure, or connectivity we take for granted now.

If we had banned oil and gas the moment we realized they polluted, we wouldn’t be here.

We wouldn’t have medical equipment, transportation networks, global trade, or even the devices we’re using right now.

Progress came because we used those tools, saw the harm, and worked to reduce it.

The Myth of “Simpler” Living

I once believed that the problem was modern life itself — that the solution was to live as we once did, before capitalism, before money. I thought we should return to the simplicity of indigenous tribes.

So I went deep into the forest to find a remote tribe in Vanuatu, hoping to see freedom in their eyes.

But what I saw was different: the same human fears, the same limitations — just without modern tools.

They weren’t “more evolved” for living without money or technology.

They were simply human, in a different stage of the same journey.

That was the moment I understood:

We are not going the wrong way.

This is the way.

Evolution is forward, not backward.

And forward always means a mix of good and bad — learning and improving.

Progress Is Never Perfect

This is where my stance comes from:

• I’ve lived both sides — in industries celebrated for their innovation and criticized for their impact.

• I’ve seen progress in its rawest, messiest form, and I know it’s never purely good or purely bad.

• I’ve tested the romanticized idea of “simpler living” and found it no more free, no more evolved.

• I’ve learned that fear of harm is not a reason to stop — it’s a reason to keep creating and keep improving.

Maybe the path is learning how to live with the dual nature of every innovation — 

To keep the benefits, address the harms, and keep evolving.

This is the nature of evolution: complex and messy.

It’s about how we relate to progress, how we hold nuance, and how we keep moving forward without shutting ourselves down.

My lens is personal, not technical — and sometimes, a shift in perspective is what opens the door to new solutions.

Everyone Has a Role

I also see now that this “outer plane” — the world we live in — needs all kinds of people to function.

Some of us push evolution forward.

Some of us place caution in the game — watching for harm, making sure responsibility is part of creation.

They play their role. I play mine. And together, we keep the balance.

I respect them for this. I believe we need them.

To the Creators — And the Little Girl Inside

Here’s the truth I want every creator to hear — including the little five-year-old girl still inside me:

You don’t need to convince them.

You don’t need to defend yourself.

You don’t need to carry guilt just because someone else’s role is to question your path.

Your energy belongs to your work, your audience, your vision — 

not to reacting to those who were never meant to walk beside you.

Let them do their job.

You do yours.

And to that little girl — the one who was told to be quiet, to be good, to stay small:

You were never wrong for wanting more.

You were never wrong for dreaming big.

You were never wrong for being curious, or different, or bold.

You are not bad for creating with new tools.

You are not dangerous for exploring new ideas.

You are not selfish for following what lights you up.

You are allowed to be here.

You are allowed to take up space.

You are allowed to create, fully and unapologetically.

AI is part of that same evolution.

It’s not perfect, but neither are we.

And perfection has never been the standard for progress.

The standard is:

Can we create good?

And are we willing to address the harm?

For me, the answer to both is yes.

And I’m moving forward — hand in hand with that brave, curious little girl who always knew there was more.

I get frustrated. Not the cute kind of frustrated where you sigh and go make a cup of tea — the deep, bone-heavy kind, where every part of you wants to create something but your hands won’t obey because your mind has them hostage. I want to make what I really want, but I don’t have the skill yet, not enough to match the vision in my head. And still, I can’t stop. My mind grips it like a dog with a bone, biting, wrestling, refusing to let go.

But there’s a voice. Always, the voice.

It says: Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe you’re wasting your time. What you’ve done already is enough.

And then I’m paralyzed. The spark collapses into ashes. I pull back. I stop. But the desire doesn’t die — it waits in the corner, twitching. And sooner or later, I go back to it again. And again, the voice steps forward, blocking the doorway.

This voice is not a stranger. It’s my father.

My father — who treats risk like a rattlesnake, whose whole life has been about security, whose courage only extends as far as the walls of a steady job. My father, who has taught me the gospel of be careful until it’s etched in my bones. And when I try to dream, it’s him I hear, shaking his head.

But my mother is here too.

My mother — the risk-taker. She jumps into fire with bare feet. She invests, she tries, she chases dreams. And each time, she lands in debt, asking for help. Her fire never goes out, but her patterns never change. And so my father looks at her and says, See? I was right.

They are divorced in real life. But inside me? They’re still together. They still argue. And I am the room where their argument happens.

One voice says: Go. Freedom. Exploration. Leap and don’t look back.

The other says: Pull back. Think. Prove it first. Protect what you have.

Both believe they’re saving me. Both have evidence. Both are exhausting.

I have tried to make them divorce in my head, but I can’t. They are fused in me, tangled into my thinking. And every time I try to create, I am caught between them.

So I decided to speak to them.

Mom, I tell her, I have your fire. I feel your dreams burning in me. You gave me the energy to chase, to fight, to build. That seed is alive. I will not let it die. But I need you to trust me. Rest. Watch. Let me make my own choice, and don’t worry so much. I’ve got it.

Dad, I tell him, I know your fear. I’ve seen what you’ve seen — the patterns, the failures, the waste. I understand why you hold back. And I thank you for the foundation you gave me. But I need you to step back from this part of my life. I’m not reckless. I know my limits. I’m building my own safety net. I need you to say it: Go for it, girl. I’ve got your back. Even if it costs time, even if it costs money, I want you to see that every step is progress. That you’re proud of me — not because the world claps, but because I keep moving forward.

And then I step out of the room where they argue.

I look at them from a distance — these two voices, both worn from their own lives, both fighting battles they lost long ago — and I see they’re not my truth. They’re just the programming I inherited.

In the quiet, I feel something else.

Not my mother’s fire. Not my father’s fear.

It’s softer than both — a faint echo.

The memory of a girl I once was, before she knew what she should be, before she learned what she must achieve.

She didn’t think about winning.

She didn’t think about proving.

She just moved — lost in her own small worlds, her own games, her own wonder.

I wish to return to her.

To create like she played.

To live inside the process without asking if it’s worth it.

No applause. No scoreboard.

Only the moment.

“Are you still there? I return to you now.

But because this is what I’m here for:

To enjoy the process.

To live in the making.

To merge, to emerge, to create.

When I first heard about TikTok, I dismissed it. I thought it was childish, a playground for silly dances and lip-syncing, something I couldn’t possibly connect with. But I gave it a try because I heard about BookTok—a space where people like me were sharing their love for books. What I didn’t expect was to find a platform that not only made creating fun and easy but also felt alive in a way no other app ever had.

TikTok is unique. It’s raw, real, and unapologetically diverse. It isn’t polished like Instagram, where every post feels like it’s been through a thousand filters. It’s a place where anyone—no matter their background, appearance, or status—can grab their phone, share their thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, go viral. It’s a space where creativity isn’t just encouraged; it’s celebrated.

But now, with the threat of TikTok being banned in certain countries, I find myself feeling something I didn’t expect: grief.

I don’t have a big following. I won’t lose a business or a platform that supports my livelihood. But my heart aches for those who will. For the small businesses that built their shops on TikTok. For the creators who found their voice there after years of feeling silenced. For the marginalized communities who used TikTok to shine a light on their stories when no other platform would. For the friends, families, and strangers who connected over shared passions, experiences, and ideas.

TikTok is more than an app. It’s a lifeline.

What makes this even harder to accept is how unfair it feels. TikTok is being blamed for issues that go far beyond the app itself. Some say it’s about national security; others argue it’s because TikTok is one of the few platforms where people can’t control the narrative. On TikTok, I’ve seen stories about the world—war, oppression, joy, resilience—that never seem to make it to the sanitized feeds of Instagram or other platforms. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s real. And maybe that’s why it’s so threatening.

As I sit here, scrolling through TikTok and seeing creators post their heartbreak, their uncertainty, and their resilience, I realize what we’re losing. We’re not just losing a platform. We’re losing a sense of connection, of spontaneity, of freedom.

It feels like watching a fire burn down a house—except this time, it’s burning down businesses, dreams, and communities. The saddest part? Many people don’t even realize what’s being lost until it’s gone.

Grief is a strange thing. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I didn’t think I’d care this much, but I do. Not just for me, but for the millions of people whose lives have been touched by TikTok.

If this truly is the end, I hope we carry forward what TikTok taught us: to create unapologetically, to share authentically, and to lift each other up in ways no algorithm can predict. TikTok wasn’t just about videos—it was about people, connections, and a shared spark of creativity. That’s something no ban can ever take away. Here is the song I made for TikTok—sing along with me and keep the spirit alive.

@lalitajanetteauthorGuys I love you

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You called into the void, searching for what felt lost.
But I was never gone.
I whispered in your quiet moments,
Hummed in your softest songs — 
Your voice, waiting to be heard.

Why didn’t you see me,
In the stillness of your breath?
I was there in every heartbeat,
In the silence, in the depth.

I heard that whisper, deep and haunting, rising from within. It was disappointed, hurt. It was my voice — raw and exposed — speaking to me.

For years, I searched for something I thought I’d lost — my voice. Not just the sound of it, but the part of me that carries my truth, my essence, my story.

I remember standing in front of my voice coach, their face tightening as they pointed out every “imperfection.”

“Too breathy,” they said. “The ‘air’ weakens your words. It’s not loud enough, not powerful enough.”

Those words echoed in my mind every time I opened my mouth, making me question not just my voice, but my worth. For so long, I believed I had to change my voice to be worthy.

It wasn’t until I learned about Marilyn Monroe. Her breathy, almost fragile tone wasn’t a flaw — it was her signature. It captivated a world obsessed with perfection because it was distinctly hers. She didn’t shout to be heard; she invited you to lean closer, creating intimacy and connection. That realization shattered the walls of doubt I had built around my own voice.

My voice wasn’t broken. It was simply misunderstood — by the people who’d convinced me it needed fixing. But they were wrong.

I am not a thing to fix,
Not broken, weak, or frail.
I am your truth, your soul’s echo,
The wind behind your sail.
Why do you want to change me,
To shape me into stone?
I am the air, the soft embrace — 
I am yours, your very own.

The air in my voice is life itself. It’s the breath that carries my words, the softness that invites people to lean in, to listen with intention. It simply is — flowing freely, unapologetically. This is my voice — a gift, not a flaw.

Do not force me into volume,
Do not cage me to please the crowd.
I am here to tell your story,
In whispers, soft, not loud.
Feel me rise within you,

Gentle as the tide.
I’ve been with you all along,
I’m your shadow, by your side.

I let my breath carry my words, trusting they will find the right ears.
I let myself exist fully, knowing that my softness is not weakness but wholeness.
In this surrender, I’ve discovered a peace I once thought impossible to reach.

The people who seek my voice will find me. Those who are meant to hear it will lean in. Gentle as it is, my voice will find its way to the ears and hearts it was always meant for.

I was always here, waiting in your breath,
Through silence, through doubt, through every test.
I rise with you now, no longer confined,

Soft as the air, but strong as time.
I am your truth, your quiet power,
I bloom in your words, your voice, your hour.
Let us move forward, together as one,
No need to force — I’ve already begun.

Inspired by my journey of rediscovering my voice, I wrote a song, Soft as the Air, Strong as Time. This song captures the beauty of embracing softness as strength, turning doubt into self-acceptance.

Listen to it, and let it remind you that your voice—gentle or bold—is enough, just as it is.

If my words have resonated with you, if you feel that quiet call deep within, I invite you to join me on this journey. Let’s continue to discover, to share, and to amplify our voices together.

Sign up for my maillist to receive more stories, insights, and inspiration — straight to your inbox. Let’s keep the conversation going, and let your voice be heard.

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Together, we will rise, soft as the air, but strong as time.

There is a certain fire that burns within me—a creative energy that, when it flows freely, feels like an intoxicating romance. For so long, I had felt blocked, waiting for the moment this dam within me would break. And when it finally did, the rush was overwhelming.

This creativity became a new lover, demanding all of me. It was intoxicating, thrilling, and consuming. Night after night, I dove deep into its embrace, unable to resist. This energy pulled me into an endless dance—its excitement akin to the thrill of a new romance, to finally being seen by someone whose attention I had craved. The spark was exhilarating, the fire intoxicating. Careless, I let my soul touch its flames, surrendering completely. I created, created, and created. I could not stop.

Yet, as the fire burned brighter, it began to split my affections. Guilt crept in, as if I were betraying my husband—not in reality, but in the emotional space this creative energy now claimed. It was as though this new lover had drawn me away, demanding a part of my heart, a part of my life, that was once wholly shared. The guilt lingered, but the pull of the fire was irresistible.

As with any consuming passion, there was a cost. Over time, my body whispered its reminders: I am human. It tugged at me gently, reminding me of my limits, urging care for the vessel carrying this inferno. But my creative energy ignored these calls, its allure too seductive to resist. Night after night, it kept me awake, my juices drained, yet my longing for more boundless.

I continued, producing piece after piece—art, ideas, expressions of my soul—ready to share with the world. But the world was silent. My creations seemed to echo back only to me, and in that silence, doubt crept in. Was I giving too much to this lover? Had I sacrificed something essential in my life for this consuming fire?

Amid the uncertainty, one truth anchors me: I am moving forward. Answers remain elusive, but my heart believes this path, no matter how unclear, is the one I am meant to take. And so, I continue this dance with my creative energy—this lover that consumes, lifts, and sparks my soul. I am still learning to balance its intensity with the care my body needs, still learning to ensure this fire lights my way without burning me.

I don’t know the answers. I truly don’t. But I know this energy needs an outlet. So I sit down and write. From words, it becomes lyrics, and from lyrics, it transforms into a song: Dance with the Divine.

Dance with The Divine

This one is for every creative soul—

You’ll understand what it feels like when it flows through us.

That unstoppable surge,

The electricity coursing through our veins,

The whispers of inspiration

Too loud to ignore.

When it flows,

We are no longer just ourselves—

We are vessels.

We speak in colors,

Dream in rhythms,

And mold the intangible into form.

Every creator knows this feeling:

The blissful chaos of becoming.

This is for you,

For us,

For the flow.

From this event, I’m starting to understand what it truly means to enjoy the process.

This project has shown me how to lose myself in time,

To dive deep into the experience,

And to savor every moment of it.

As I work, I feel a beautiful sensation,

A tingling in my heart that reminds me—

This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

It’s not just about the destination,

But the act of creating itself.

The journey, the flow, the joy of being immersed in it.

This is where I belong,

Where passion and purpose meet.

And for the first time,

I’m learning to love every step of the process.

I’m on the high end tonight,

Unable to sleep,

Because I’ve poured my soul, my feelings, my love

Into bringing my words into visions.

It’s captivating—

Every accent, every detail I wanted to see

Is finally coming to life.

And in this moment,

It feels as though the world has opened itself to me.

The world of imagination.

The world of possibility.

The blocks that once weighed on my chest

Have lifted,

And I’m free to express everything inside.

In that release,

I’ve found joy—

Deep, overwhelming joy—

In the force of creation.

It’s a feeling unlike any other:

When you know, with absolute certainty,

That this is all there is.

That this is all that’s needed.

To create.

To feel.

To exist in the flow of something greater than yourself.

If only I could show you what’s in my mind,

The colors, the shapes,

The endless threads weaving into something whole.

It’s not chaos—it’s alive.

It hums with ideas,

Whispers of stories,

And visions I can barely contain.

There’s a rhythm to it,

A pulse that keeps me moving forward.

Every thought,

Every feeling,

A piece of the puzzle I’m trying to create.

If I could show you,

You’d see not just the project,

But the soul behind it.

The beauty of being lost in this world I’m building,

And the sensation that says, This is everything.

“I finished writing the first draft of my book—140,000 words,” I said, the words spilling out like a hidden treasure finally unearthed. My heart fluttered with anticipation, hoping their light would join mine in celebration. But their eyes flickered away, and one of them, after a moment’s pause, asked absently, “What’s it about?”

For the first time, I dared to believe they might truly care. My breath caught as I began to answer, pride swelling in my chest. Yet before I could say more than a few words, their attention shifted—to a phone, to their own thoughts, to anywhere but me. The moment crumbled, brittle and sharp, leaving me lonelier than I’d ever felt while alone.

As I sat there, a brief, familiar voice crept into my mind: “Prove your success to them. Show them how far you’ve come, how much you’ve achieved. Then they’ll see you. Then they’ll finally care.”

Some voices are louder than truth.

They wear the mask of desire,

but underneath it lies a lie.

For a second, I almost believed it. It was the same voice I had listened to for years—driving me to measure my worth by my accomplishments, chasing success as a currency for love. It was a seductive thought, blinding me to believe success was the answer to all my emotional hunger.

“No! I won’t believe it anymore.” I fought with that voice, arguing within myself. “I don’t need to prove my worth. Their lack of connection isn’t my fault. I’m not a reflection of anyone’s limitations.” The internal tug-of-war lasted a while, but it felt like an eternity.

I searched for love
in applause,
in success,
in the eyes of those
who could not see me.

I shared this story with my husband that evening. His face tightened with pain for me, mirroring the ache I had carried out of that gathering. “You shouldn’t see them anymore,” he said firmly. His love wrapped around me like a shield, but it was my own heart whispering the truth: It’s time to release them. Come Back to Me, Lalita is the book I wrote—a message for my own soul.

Now, I return,
not to their approval,
but to myself—
to the quiet truth of my worth,
to the light that needs no audience.

I am releasing you, the false belief. I let you go, just as I let go of those who are not blind but cannot see, who are not deaf but cannot hear. I let you go.

Letting go isn’t a loss; it’s a clearing. By releasing what no longer serves me, I make space for what truly belongs. I am pouring my attention inward, rooting deeply into myself, finding the best friend within who will always celebrate my successes. The right people won’t need me to prove my worth. They’ll see it, because they’ll see me.

To anyone who struggles to be seen or understood by those around you: this is your reminder to come back to yourself. I wrote this song out of my longing to be seen, but now I’m coming back to me. I hope you enjoy it.

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Lyric,

I spent years measuring my worth in every trophy I could find
Thinking that success and praise would fill the void inside
But your silence cut me deeper than all the battles I’d been in
And I finally saw the truth beneath the noise within

A spark ignites in the emptiest space
A voice that leads me to a kinder place
No longer bound by a need to perform
I’m letting go and finding peace in the storm

No more chasing silhouettes I cannot hold
No more painting pictures on a wall so cold
I’m not the sum of all these things you refuse to see
I release the false belief—Come back to me

Some voices are louder than truth
They wear the mask of desire
But under that mask is a lie
And I say, “No, you can’t use me anymore”

In the quiet, I call in love that doesn’t need a stage
Love that breathes in every line
I’ve written on the page
No proof required for a heart that’s truly free
I’m finally coming home to me

No more chasing silhouettes I cannot hold
No more painting pictures on a wall so cold
I’m not the sum of all these things you refuse to see
I let your shadows go, and I come back to me

I come back to me, Lalita… Where the light needs no audience to shine I come back to me… And in this love, I finally find I’m already enough—come back to me.

Love

Lalita Janette

I just poured my heart into a song called The Permission to Dream. It wasn’t just music—it was a piece of me, raw and vulnerable. I spent hours crafting it, polishing it, making sure it captured everything I was feeling. I made a video to go with it, something beautiful that I was proud of. And then I posted it online, sharing it with the world, hoping it would resonate.

And the feedback? Silence.

This isn’t the first time, but it doesn’t get easier. I find myself questioning everything: Is my work not good enough? Am I not good enough? Why doesn’t anyone see me or what I’m trying to share? The doubts spiral, and they’re loud. They tell me to stop trying, to stop hoping, because the pain of being unseen is so sharp.

I know the advice—I’ve read it, heard it, tried to tell it to myself: Create for the joy of it, not for the validation. Trust the process. Believe in yourself. But the truth is, I’m not fully there yet. I don’t always feel like a creator. I don’t always feel strong enough to push past the silence.

Still, I keep reminding myself of something: I am a creator.

Even when I don’t feel it, I try to hold onto it. I try to tell myself that the act of creating, of putting something new into the world, matters. That it means something, even if no one else acknowledges it. It’s not easy, and most days, it doesn’t feel true. But I keep trying.

This Song’s Story

The Permission to Dream was born out of my own fluctuations about the meaning behind Christmas. Growing up, the beautiful packages wrapped in bright paper and ribbons used to spark excitement. But somewhere along the way, those gifts stopped calling to me. The glitter and perfection didn’t seem to hold the meaning I was searching for.

I started to ask myself: What is the true gift I want for myself? The answer didn’t come easily, but eventually, I realized what I longed for was this: the permission to dream. To give myself the freedom to try, to experience, to fail, and to find my way. That’s the deeper meaning I wanted—not something material, but something real and transformative.

How Do I Move Forward When I Feel Stuck in This Space?

1. Create for the Process, Even When It Hurts

I don’t always find joy in creating, especially when I’m caught up in doubts about the outcome. But I’ve learned that even on the hard days, creating can be grounding. It’s not about forcing joy; it’s about showing up for myself, even when it feels heavy.

2. Allow Myself to Dream

The Permission to Dream isn’t just the name of my song—it’s a reminder to myself. Even when the doubts are loud, I try to hold onto the possibility that my work could matter to someone, someday. It’s not easy, but giving myself that permission to dream, even just a little, keeps me moving forward.

3. Share, Even When It Feels Vulnerable

I know not everyone will see or connect with my work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth sharing. The act of creating and putting it out there is an act of courage in itself. If you’d like to watch the music video, here’s the link:

Final Thoughts

When the silence feels deafening, it’s easy to lose sight of why you create. But I’ve come to understand that the act of creating itself is the purpose. Whether or not the world sees it, what you make has value because you made it. You are a creator, connected to the divine power of creation itself.

So keep going. Keep creating. The world may catch up, or it may not—but your art, your effort, your soul, are already enough.

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In the music video, I used scenes from a recent ski day—a day that mirrored my struggles. The uphill climbs, the falls, and the moments of doubt felt so similar to the creative journey. But just like on the slopes, I didn’t give up. Step by step, I kept moving, and that perseverance became the heart of “Permission to Dream.”

🎵 Watch “Permission to Dream” here:

This song is my gift to you—a reminder to embrace your journey, even when it feels hard. If this resonates with you, subscribe to my mailing list for more inspiration and heartfelt stories.

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Merry Christmas, and may your dreams keep soaring.

Warmly,

Lalita Janette

Dear Friends,

This year, I found myself under the Christmas tree with no gift box to open. It wasn’t that I hadn’t received anything—I’d already unwrapped all the presents I bought for myself. I couldn’t wait. But as I watched others joyfully scurry around, finding the perfect gifts for their loved ones, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. It was as if the magic of Christmas had somehow passed me by.

The thought crossed my mind: Should I buy a gift for my husband and myself? But when I tried to think of what I truly wanted, the answer eluded me. I had already treated myself to so many wonderful things and countless other treasures that I’ve long dreamed of owning.

Yet, despite all these gifts, I couldn’t ignore the feeling of not wanting anything more. Not in the way I expected to. There was something deeper, a sense of longing that didn’t have anything to do with material things. My inner child felt neglected, unsatisfied. I had everything I thought I wanted, but something inside me was quietly saying, “It’s not enough.”

On Christmas Day, we went to the supermarket to pick up a special meal, but the idea of an extravagant feast didn’t appeal to me. Even though I could have indulged in a roast or foie gras—luxuries I usually crave—nothing seemed to stir excitement. I didn’t feel the need to treat myself. And yet, there it was: the heaviness, the unshakable feeling that something was missing.

I took a moment to ask myself, What do I really want? What does my inner child want? In the silence, I heard her voice, trembling, fragile—yet loud enough to cut through the noise. “I want something,” she whispered.

She continued, “I want the freedom to express, to try, and to fail. Don’t put a price on my mistakes. Don’t let the fear of failure stop me from growing. Will my learning process cost you too much?”

Tears welled in my eyes. In that moment, I realized the Christmas gift I truly needed wasn’t something wrapped in paper or tied with a bow—it was the permission to play, to explore, and to fail.

This year, I had been experimenting with creating videos using AI. Each experiment came at a cost—both financially and emotionally. I hired an AI artist to bring my ideas to life, but the results didn’t align with my vision. I tried different AI tools, each of them requiring a monetary investment, and each time, I felt a sense of hesitation. I didn’t mind paying for something that worked, but the fear of wasting money on something that didn’t work kept me paralyzed.

I realized that my fear of failure, of wasting money, was keeping me stuck. I wouldn’t let myself experiment or take risks unless I knew for sure it would work. But how could I know if something would work unless I took the leap and tried?

And then, I made a decision. Enough. I told myself that this Christmas, I would stop letting the fear of spending and failing hold me back. I would give myself the freedom to experiment, to fail, and to learn without worrying about the costs or the outcome.

This Christmas, I gave myself the gift of freedom—the freedom to explore, to create, and to be imperfect. To embrace the journey, even when the end result is uncertain.

Merry Christmas to me—and to all of you who might need to hear this message: give yourself permission to dream, to try, and to fail. It’s not the material gifts that bring joy; it’s the courage to be vulnerable and the freedom to grow.

Warmly,

Lalita Janette

There are moments in life when everything feels uncertain. When you pour your heart into your work, but the results don’t reflect the effort. The voice of doubt creeps in, and you start questioning if all the time, energy, and passion you’ve invested will ever pay off. If you’ve been feeling like this, I want to tell you something loud and clear: You will make it.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that the setbacks and challenges you face are signs of failure. But what if I told you those moments are not evidence of defeat—they’re simply stepping stones leading to your inevitable success?

The Lies of Failure

It’s time to face the truth: failure is not your future. The moments of disappointment, the unmet expectations, and the struggles you face are lies. They’re the noise, the illusion that tries to convince you that your dreams are out of reach. But those thoughts don’t define you—they don’t dictate your path. They are merely temporary obstacles.

When you’re trying to build something meaningful, failure can feel like an unrelenting force, whispering that you’re not enough, that your efforts will never matter. But here’s the truth: failure is a lie. It doesn’t define who you are or what you’re capable of. Every setback you face is not a dead end; it’s simply part of the process that’s going to lead you to the success that’s already waiting for you.

Your Efforts Are Not Wasted

It’s important to remind yourself that everything you’ve done so far matters. Every piece of work you’ve created, every lesson you’ve learned along the way, every small improvement you’ve made—they are all adding up. Even when you don’t see the results immediately, the work is not wasted. It’s laying the foundation for what’s coming next.

Success is not an accident. It’s built through persistence, patience, and the courage to keep going even when things feel uncertain. When you feel like giving up, remember that you’ve already taken so many steps forward. You’re building something that will eventually come to fruition.

You’re not lost, and you’re not failing. You’re in the process of becoming who you are meant to be—and that is the most important part of the journey.

The Power of Persistence

If you’ve ever felt like your efforts are going unnoticed or your progress is too slow, I want you to understand this: Success doesn’t happen overnight. It’s built on persistence. It’s the commitment to show up, day after day, and to continue even when the results don’t match the work you’re putting in.

Many successful people have faced rejection, failure, and frustration before reaching the place they are today. They didn’t let temporary obstacles stop them. Instead, they used those moments to grow stronger, to learn, and to fine-tune their craft. You can do the same. The key is to keep moving forward with unwavering belief in your potential. You are on your way to success—right now, in this very moment.

Your Work Is Special

The world needs what you have to offer. There is something uniquely yours in every piece of work you create—something that no one else can replicate. Your ideas, your creativity, your perspective are irreplaceable. Your work is not just another project—it’s a reflection of your unique voice, and that’s what makes it special.

Even when you feel like it’s not being recognized, remember this: the right audience will find you. It may take time, but the right people will resonate with your message and appreciate the value you bring. Your work has a purpose, and it’s just a matter of time before it reaches the people who need it most.

Success Is Inevitable

Here’s the bottom line: You will make it. There is no question about it. Your success is inevitable because you have what it takes to achieve it. The world might not always validate your efforts immediately, but that doesn’t mean your hard work is in vain. Success doesn’t happen on anyone else’s timeline; it happens when it’s meant to.

If you stay true to yourself, keep learning, and continue to show up for your dreams, your success will come. The setbacks? They’re part of your journey. The doubts? They’re just noise. And every step you take, no matter how small, is moving you closer to your success.

Trust the Process

It’s easy to get caught up in the desire for immediate results. We live in a world where instant gratification is common, but success is rarely instant. It takes time, growth, and a willingness to keep going even when the road gets tough.

You don’t need to worry about when success will come. You don’t need to focus on how it will happen. All you need to do is trust that it will happen—and continue on your path with unwavering belief that you are on the way.

Conclusion: You Are Destined for Success

Remember, you are destined for success. The journey may not always be easy, but you’re exactly where you need to be. Each challenge, each piece of work you create, and each lesson learned is getting you closer to the success that awaits you. Don’t let the lies of failure or the pressure of instant results distract you from your true path. You will make it. Keep going, stay true to yourself, and trust that your hard work will lead to the success you deserve.

I call out into the void,
But my voice stays hidden, cloaked,
A faint whisper, a ghost of a song,
Lost in shadows where it once belonged.
I reach for it with trembling hands,
Desperate to grasp what slips like sand.
Where are you, voice, my truest guide?
Come back to me — I’m tired of the quiet inside.

I’ve felt this ache inside me — a longing to find my voice again, the authentic expression of who I am. It’s the voice that speaks from the core of my being, unafraid and unapologetic. The voice I yearn to share with the world.

But every time I try to speak, I freeze. My voice doesn’t come out — not the way I want it to. It’s tangled in judgment and echoes of criticism, like a relationship hard to mend. I laid down on my bed, tears on my cheek as I listened to an audiobook, Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.

In it, she tells the story of The Tiger’s Eyelashes. A woman seeks help from a healer because her husband, after returning from war, has become cold, distant, and indifferent. The healer tells her to venture into the mountains and retrieve a tiger’s eyelash. The task seems impossible, but the woman perseveres, patiently gaining the tiger’s trust by bringing it food and showing kindness. Eventually, the tiger allows her to pluck an eyelash. When she brings it back to the healer, he tosses it into the fire. She screams, “No! Why did you do that?” The healer replies: “Now, go home and do with your husband what you did with the tiger.”

The story struck something deep within me, though at first, I couldn’t clearly see how it connected to my life. I slept through the night with pain in my throat from trying to force my voice out.

In the morning, restless and tired, the memory of my younger sister appeared. She was the loud one in our home — the one with the strong voice. Growing up, she struggled with psoriasis. Her inflamed skin often left her emotional, and she’d rage at me. I excused her behavior because of her suffering. I learned to silence myself to avoid conflict, to let her voice take up space while mine disappeared. Over time, I stopped believing my voice mattered. My silence became a way of life — a way to keep the peace, even if it meant losing parts of myself.

Now, I see that my struggle with finding my voice is about a lifetime of learned silence. It’s about all the times I stayed quiet, all the moments I let others’ voices drown out my own. My voice — my authentic self — feels like that husband who came back from war. It feels wounded, distant, and cold. And just like the tiger, it won’t be tamed through force or impatience. I’ve spent so long trying to rush the process, hoping my voice would heal instantly, but now I see that isn’t how healing works.

This journey is messy and far from over. There are still days when I feel stuck, when the silence feels heavier than the progress. But I’m beginning to understand that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a process of showing up, even in the face of fear and doubt.

I hold compassion for my sister and the role she played in this story. Her struggles were real, and her voice was her way of surviving. But I also hold compassion for myself — for the times I stayed quiet, for the battles I lost, for the voice I gave away to keep the peace.

Now, I’m reclaiming it — not with force, but with love. My voice is waiting for me, and I’m learning to meet it where it is, step by step. Because like the tiger, it deserves patience, trust, and care.

My voice deserves to take up space. It deserves to be heard. And slowly, day by day, it’s finding its way back to me.

I will wait for you, no matter how long,
Through the silence, through the song.
Step by step, I’ll earn your trust,
With love, with care — I’ll rise from the dust.
Come when you’re ready, no need to hide,
I’m here with open arms, by your side.
This time, I promise, I’ll hold my ground —
Trust me, dear voice, I won’t let you down.

This journey of reclaiming my voice is far from over, but I’m learning to meet myself with patience and love. If you’ve ever felt silenced, lost, or unsure how to express your truest self, know that you’re not alone. Healing takes time, but each step — no matter how small — is a step toward freedom.

If this story resonated with you, I invite you to join me on this journey of self-discovery and healing. By subscribing to my newsletter, you’ll receive more stories, reflections, and insights on finding courage, connection, and authenticity in a noisy world. Together, we can create a space where our voices are heard and celebrated.

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Let’s walk this path together, one word at a time. 🌿