Many of us are not taught to trust our desire.
We’re taught to manage it. Tame it. Justify it.
For a lot of folks, especially those raised in environments that valued self-sacrifice over self-awareness, desire became something to mistrust. Something that made us selfish. Or dramatic. Or too much.
So what if desire isn’t something to be feared?
What if learning to listen to our desire and attend to it with openness and curiosity is one of the most honest ways to return to ourselves?
Emily Nagoski talks about how safety is the foundation for desire—not just in sexuality, but in life. When our nervous system doesn’t feel safe, we shut down. We go numb. We lose touch with what we even want.
And when you've spent years accommodating everyone else’s needs—partner, parents, kids, coworkers—it makes sense that desire would feel dangerous. Or maybe just… gone. What is the point in wanting when others want so much from us and we have grown accustomed to listening to them more than ourselves?
But here’s the truth: desire doesn’t disappear.
It just goes quiet when there’s no room for it.
That’s where boundaries come in. Not as walls, but as the shape of our lives. The structure that lets us feel safe enough to ask, what do I want?
Boundaries are what allow desire to become a compass, not a wildfire. In our offices, we often find that before a client can begin asking what they want for themselves, they have to begin setting limits around them to clear some space. On a practical level, that can begin with just coming to therapy and beginning to ask about themselves more. It can begin with running, or taking time in the morning before anyone else is up to write or think about their own mind, rather than the list of things that need to be done. It can begin with spending more time with friends, rather than only doing stuff for the kids if you are a parent, or it can begin with spending a little more time in for the evening instead of going out with friends to take time for you.
This movement towards caring for yourself begins to clear some room to consider what limits need to be set outside of you, before you can begin to explore the vastness of your interior self.
Many of us carry unspoken agreements—cultural, familial, religious. Be agreeable. Be helpful. Don’t want too much.
Hilary McBride says, “If you’re willing to pay attention to and dialogue with what’s happening inside of you, you’ll find that your body already knows the answers about how to live a full, present, connected, and healthy life.” Embodiment like this enables us to get deeper into our desire with more clarity on what our lives are moving us towards (and often what we expend so much of our energy resisting).
But if you’ve learned to mute that voice, it can feel foreign—maybe even selfish—to turn back toward it.
You start to realize how much energy you’ve spent shaping yourself to be digestible.
And how hard it is to break up with the roles that once made you feel safe.
This isn’t about blaming others. It’s about getting honest about the systems and expectations that trained you to abandon your wants in the name of being good.
Let’s be clear—there’s nothing wrong with being responsible.
But somewhere along the way, responsibility turned into martyrdom.
You took care of everyone. You kept the peace. You answered the texts, made the appointments, filled the calendar. And now you’re not sure where you went in all of it.
At some point, carrying everything makes us resentful. Or brittle. Or just plain empty.
That’s often the moment when people come to therapy. Not because something dramatic happened. But because they can’t remember the last time they felt anything deeply—excitement, hunger, curiosity.
And that’s a grief worth honoring.
Here’s the hard part: no one can give you permission to want.
You have to give that to yourself.
And you’ll need boundaries to do it.
The kind that say: I don’t owe anyone an explanation for wanting more.
You don’t have to change everything overnight.
But you might start by asking:
Hold onto these guides in your questions:
To stay curious.
To make room for longing.
To follow desire not as a threat—but as a trailhead.
You don’t have to earn your way into wanting more.
You just have to start listening to the part of you that never stopped wanting.
Let that be enough for now.
