Barnacles #29

There comes a point in life when you’re exhausted...

...not because you’re carrying too much,

but because you’re carrying things that were never yours to begin with.

Other people’s expectations.

Old fears.

Roles you accepted because someone needed you to fill them.

Criticism you believed.

Labels you never questioned.

Relationships that slowly convinced you to become smaller instead of more yourself.

For years, I thought growth meant adding something.

More confidence.

More education.

More success.

More discipline.

More courage.

I was always searching for the next thing that would finally make me feel like enough.

Then I learned something from the ocean.

Barnacles attach themselves to sea turtles.

The turtle does not seek them out or gather them. It simply moves through the water, living its life, while these small creatures find a place to hold on.

Barnacles aren’t bad.

They’re just being barnacles.

At first, they may not seem like much.

One here.

Another there.

And then they multiply.

And eventually, they can create drag.

They can make swimming harder and require the turtle to use more energy simply to move through the water.

The turtle has not become weaker.

It is carrying something that attached itself along the way.

I think people do the same thing.

We collect expectations.

We collect disappointments.

We collect criticism.

We collect responsibilities.

We collect identities that fit who we needed to be in one season of life but no longer fit who we are today.

Some barnacles arrive because someone else placed them there.

Others remain because, at some point, we learned to live with them.

Many appeared so gradually that we stopped noticing they were never truly part of us.

Eventually, we mistake the barnacles for ourselves.

That’s the dangerous part.

Because once that happens, we stop asking whether something belongs to us.

We simply assume it does.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if growth has less to do with becoming someone new...

...and more to do with returning to the person who was there before all those things attached themselves.

Not by erasing our experiences.

Not by pretending life didn’t happen.

But by asking a different question.

What can I gently remove?

The guilt that never belonged to me.

The expectation that I have to make everyone happy.

The belief that my worth depends on what I produce.

The fear of disappointing people.

The habit of apologizing for taking up space.

Maybe wisdom isn’t measured by what we’ve accumulated.

Maybe it’s measured by what we’ve finally had the courage to let go.

This birthday felt less like adding another year.

It feels like scraping away another layer.

Not because I want to become someone different.

Because I want to swim a little more like myself.

Maybe that’s the real Maven Principle: not becoming someone else but remembering who you were before the world convinced you otherwise.

Protect your queendom. Press play.

💿 Liner Notes

Inspired by: my current obsession with The Turtle Hospital on TikTok, where I keep watching rescued turtles receive care, shed what has weighed them down, and return to the water as themselves.

Dedicated to: Anyone who’s ever mistaken what attached itself to them for who they are.

Currently Spinning: Read My Lips, Madonna, Confessions II

Leave the Needle Here: Growth isn’t about adding more. It’s about gently removing everything that never belonged to you in the first place.

Side B: What’s one barnacle you’re ready to let go of?