I grew up in Romania, a communist country at that time.

And although the whole premise of communism is to eliminate the tension between social classes and ensure that wealth and power are distributed equally among all people, the real-world implementation significantly diverged from the original idea. There were the people who were greatly suffering during the regime, the people who were calmly, yet very, very carefully, having a rather peaceful life, and the privileged – mostly based on the roles they played in the system.

I was fortunate to land in that middle. Where there is comfort in fear, stability in lack, and a better view of the whole.

I didn’t have much, but I had everything that I needed. And it’s how I learned lessons that now run deep: gratitude for what is and the difference between need and want. I learned about compassion and kindness that is not pretentious: I remember how my parents would host their friends because we had access to heating during the winter, and they didn’t. I remember their laughter, the strong bonding in simplicity, how everything was just life – complaining and being depressed wouldn’t have done much anyway.

I remember having my heart heavy, as heavy a heart can be for my classmates who didn’t have the means for lunch – and no, the school never provided any – and how we shared sandwiches.

I remember how I envied what others had: the clothing, the food – especially imported sweets – and the imagined opportunities. How I wanted to be one of them. To have access. Without comprehending one bit of the price involved.

In that middle, I learned everything: gratitude and envy; laughter as the best coping mechanism and the feeling of “less than”; the tingling of desire for more and fear; the power of dreams and the questioning of my own worthiness; to distinguish between surface-level appearance and the depth of one’s heart and beliefs.

All this might make you think that I had a glorious life of wisdom. I wish! It took me a while to understand all those precious lessons.

At that time, I just collected the wounds, the dreams, the doubts, and the insecurities, and all I wanted was what I didn’t have. Full of assumptions, without questioning at all if what I said I wanted was also what I needed, and in what way. I just had my list and the pen ready to check one box at a time.

Not all boxes looked like promotions or possessions. Some were about love and relationships. Being chosen. Being needed. Being someone’s “person.”, someone’s “best friend,” the “ride or die.” I was unconsciously chasing emotional goals with the same checklist mentality, hoping that if I was just enough, gave enough, loved enough, I’d be safe and worthy.

There is sweet victory when you get to the next box on the list, you know? But no one counts the wounds collected on the way from one box to the other. Or, we do, but more like how many to be shoved under the rug, pretending they never happened. We make up this story that, by the time we collect all the check marks, every pain will magically vanish on its own.

Then lights started to pop here and there, like shy fireflies: slices of past events and timid beginning of questions: What if? How did I?!? What do I even?!?

Are these even my dreams? I mean, they were all on my list. But how did I even decide to pursue them? What was I trying to accomplish? To fulfill, to be more precise. Because the achievement of a goal is never about the goal itself, but the fulfillment of the underlying desire. What was I trying to feel and why?

I peeked under that rug, the rug that had covered my wounds for so long. All my insecurities, all the never-asked and unanswered questions, were blended, mixed, and tangled, living there. I thought they were “dead,” suffocated by the weight of my victories. Instead, they were happily directing the show, taking turns but never quitting: the feeling of being less than, the fear of rejection, the fear of mistakes and embarrassment, the need to be seen, the longing for love, the desire to be recognized, the desire to belong, the hunger for safety, he feeling of inadequacy, with all their variations.

These weren’t just driving my ambition. They subtly shaped all my relationships. Who I chose. How I accepted closeness. How I lost myself in trying to earn what I never needed to earn.

I looked at my goals: all those I have achieved, all the twists and turns, and the goals that were still on the list waiting to be checked.

I started to see the connections. Fear had a taste I could feel. And a grip. An undeniable presence. All-consuming. Blinding. Numbing everything else.

All my desires and plans, all my thoughts and actions, were desperate attempts to soothe those wounds, to answer those questions, to bring peace to the unrest constantly happening under the rug.

Do you know the saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?” I now believe it to be one of the biggest lies. I unlearned and learned so much in the past few years – I can’t even recognize myself. I know I am me, but I am not that me anymore. I connected so many dots, healed so many wounds, and learned how to replace fear with faith and love.

I learned how to separate the wheat from the chaff: the desires and goals that made the list only because their purpose was to replace the inner work, from the desires and goals that were speaking directly to my heart. From mostly performative goals to only the ones that I want to experience because I see how the value in them is a direct match for what my heart values the most.

I understood what a powerful metaphor was my start in life in that middle.

We are all in the middle at any given time.

There is always someone who has less and someone who has more.
Someone who hasn’t even started and someone who has achieved the incredible.

Even when you think you have arrived, you are just in the middle of another chapter.

We fear the middle – we glorify the arrival.

We compare our experiences with projected “shoulds,” but never ask if we are running the wrong race.

Interestingly, everything becomes simple, rewarding, and fulfilling (even easy) when we compare our desires with our clarified values. When we have understood and healed the “why.”

And there was this interesting question, one of the toughest I ever asked myself: Would I change anything from my past? Before healing all those perceptions and interpretations, I would probably have changed ALL my past. I would have dealt a way better card for myself. But now? I’d hardly change anything. Because it’s only in my imagination that a different choice would have been better. How do I know how everything would have unfolded if I had done anything different? Who would I be if I had a slightly different path? I asked myself: If I keep wishing to have done things differently, is it not the same as wanting to be someone else when I was a kid?

I don’t know what’s ahead, but I don’t need to know. I don’t need everything to be perfect. I don’t need control. I’m not afraid of the world, of people, or of myself. I’ve learned what “fully trust” means. I don’t need to race or pretend anymore. There is nothing to prove and nowhere to go. I am not afraid of mistakes. And I don’t need every page of the next chapter to be mapped in advance.

Am I immune to anything going wrong? No. But I have the confidence that I have the capacity to take and grow through anything God gives me moving forward.

Am I immune to the feelings I’d rather not feel? No. But now I know that they are not part of my identity – just entryways into new opportunities to explore and learn.

I just need to listen closely. And share everything I discover.

Because I believe with all my heart that I haven’t gotten to this point only for my own enjoyment.
That would be such a foolish misunderstanding. Everything I have been given is not for me to hoard but to share and translate. Into language. Into presence. Into choices that don’t repeat the old cycles.

So I speak. Even if my voice shakes. I write. Even if my writing needs serious improvement.

I understood that it’s never been about arriving first, it’s about walking together.
It’s never been about becoming impressive but about being present and real.

And, if I’ve been tasked to be the support someone else needs to feel less alone or frightened in their own middle, my whole heart is ready and I gladly stand with them.

Shared with Love,
Gabriela

I don’t pretend I KNOW. I write from my experience and from my heart, hoping that what I share will be the support someone needs on their journey. I reserve the right to be wrong and change my mind as I grow in my own understanding.

Have questions? Please never hesitate to reach out gabriela@experiencetruewealth.com

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