This time last year, I painted an accent wall in my apartment—my first official act in rebuilding my home and heart post break up. On a bit of a whim, I peeled myself off the couch late Sunday afternoon and biked to Home Depot. I paced in front of that colorful wall of paint swatches for 30 minutes before I—without consulting anyone else—committed to a color for my apartment: a rich yellow ochre with hints of green undertones.
By 2 a.m., I was done painting. In the quiet of the night, I couldn’t tell if I loved the color or if it was all wrong. I’d have to wait until morning to find out.
I woke up the next day and poked my head out of my bedroom to judge my freshly painted wall. But still unsure if I’d made the right decision, I stared at it from all directions, noting how different angles brought out different tones of the paint. I hated the bronze hues that were brought out by my kitchen lights and loved the greener ones that came out in the sun.
Days, weeks, and months have come and gone since that day. I’ve gotten to see the wall through every season. And one year later, my ochre wall has become a symbol of reclamation and faith—of trusting myself to make decisions without needing full clarity on the outcome.
Some questions—like whether or not you like the color of your accent wall—become clear in a week. Others—like walking away from a relationship–take longer. And some questions will forever stand alone, unanswered.
The question, “did I make the right decision?” echoes in my mind constantly. I’ve come to define the “right” decision as the one that quiets my inner voice—the voice that knows what I truly want, how I really feel. The one that affords me greater self respect when I go to bed at night.
Last fall was the first collection I launched on my own. The weight of the business felt immense. I remember the leaves turning brilliant colors and wanting someone to share that with. Instead I enjoyed them alone and took photos. I went on good dates and got wrapped up in situationships that now make me cringe! I came home late from work to an empty apartment. But each day I walked in the direction of the unknown, guided only by the quiet belief that I wanted more—and that more was possible.
In the last year, the business has doubled. Our team is growing. I’m in a new relationship that feels expansive and aligned to my values. My family and friendships have deepened.
Sometimes things feel 90% right, but the 10% that’s missing is a non-negotiable. Those are the hardest situations to walk away from. You almost have it. It would be easier to stay. But staying would mean silencing the voice inside—and over time, that voice only grows louder.
Sometimes growth looks like walking away without a plan. Sometimes it looks like getting hung up on the wrong people. Sometimes it looks like reaching for a future you can’t yet see.
But it always begins in uncertainty.
Here’s to who we become in the unknown,
Nasrin