The Will to Be Free

“Freedom is the will to be responsible for ourselves.” — Nietzsche

One evening, as I was getting ready to hop into the shower, I found myself standing in front of a full-length mirror. I can’t remember the last time I did that. In fact, I don’t even own a full-length mirror. Not until we inherited the one left on our new bathroom door by the previous owners.

I paused, taking a long look at the body standing before me.

And I didn’t like what I saw.

Not because I was struggling with my body image. Not because I was comparing myself to society’s idea of what a healthy, fit woman my age ought to look like. Or because I was judging myself for not looking a certain way.

I didn’t like how I felt in my body. And I didn’t like the discomfort of finally noticing what my body had been trying to tell me.

Signs of neglect.

Not the kind that comes from “letting myself go” or not “keeping in shape,”.

But from putting my own needs on the sideline for months. Perhaps longer, if I’m being completely honest.

The past few months had taken a toll on me. Whatever capacity I had left, I chose to use them for others — my loved ones, my clients, and those who needed my support. I had very little left for myself.

It was a familiar pattern, one that is finding its way back into my way of being. Not because I haven’t done ‘enough work to heal’ from it. But perhaps there was still something here for me to learn.

And my body was trying to get me to pay attention.

Anxiety. Fear. Insomnia. Gut issues. Skin issues. Fatigue. Irritability.

It would have been easy to chalk them all up to hormonal changes and menopause, or the stress of moving. And perhaps some of them were.

As uncomfortable as it was, I didn’t look away. I allowed myself to witness it all. To acknowledge what was happening without trying to explain it away or make it better.

Later that night, I shared it with my husband. I knew he would want to reassure me. Tell me how amazing I looked and remind me how much he loved me, no matter what.

While I know they are all true, reassurance wasn’t what I needed in that moment. But the space to acknowledge what wasn’t okay for me. And that was what I asked for.

The next morning, I felt an impulse to go for a run on a trail I hadn’t visited in months because I never seem to ‘have enough time’ for it. After dropping my daughter off, I followed that impulse.

I’m glad I did. My whole body reminded me of just how much I had missed it.

Running has always been a form of meditation for me. It gives me a sense of freedom that few other things can.

But it wasn’t always this way.

There was a time when running was all about the distance, the pace, the personal records, the races, and building stamina. That relationship has gradually changed over the years, especially after my ankle surgery. Somewhere along the way, I began to let go of the need to reach some goals every time I ran.

But that morning felt different.

I experienced this new sense of appreciation: this gift of freedom to move my body. The freedom to move in my body without expectations of what it should be capable of. To just be with what it is, in every given moment.

To let it go faster when it wanted to, slow down when it needed to, or stop when it was time to rest. And not feeling like there is anything wrong with any of it, or that I should be doing anything else.

To feel the ground beneath my shoes, the fresh air on my skin, the blue sky above me. To notice the trees, the lake, the ducks, the birds, the flowers, and, of course, the other people sharing the trail with me.

No podcasts to catch up on. No music to keep me going. Just me, my body, and the freedom to be present with it all.

As I sit here reflecting on that experience, I find myself wondering: Is this what embodied freedom feels like?

When I ask the people who come to see me what they hope to achieve, their answers often revolve around wanting to be free.

Free from chronic pain. Free from the limitations to live the way they want to. Free from feeling stuck in patterns they can’t seem to break.

And beneath all those hopes, I wonder if what many of us are really longing for is the freedom to feel like ourselves again.

To move through life with ease. To make choices that feel true to us. To live without feeling held back, by our bodies, our life circumstances, or the expectations we carry even when they don’t feel like ours.

Isn’t that, in some way, what healing is about? Not simply getting rid of or fix what hurts, but truly experiencing what it means to be free to be?

And yet, there is an aspect of freedom I think we sometimes overlook.

Perhaps we can only experience a deeper sense of freedom when we take a truly honest look at what we are willing and capable of taking responsibility for —our choices, our actions, and the way we show up in our own lives.

Not because we need to earn our freedom by getting everything right. Or that we can ignore the reality of limitations we may have to contend with.

But because freedom asks us to recognize our own agency, including being honest about where we are, and our willingness to act on what we know we need and are capable of.

This reminded me of something I’ve been navigating lately: parenting a tween – the tender, yet sometimes frustrating stage of life. A time when the desire for freedom takes center stage, but the ability and the willingness to take responsibility for oneself is still developing. The natural push and pull between wanting to be free and make her own choices AND learning to assume responsibility for the consequences of those choices.

All these while I’ve been explaining to my daughter that freedom comes with responsibility – if she wants more freedom, she needs to show that she can take responsibility for her actions. A belief that has strongly shaped my own story, for better or worse.  

To a certain extent, that is true. But I’m beginning to see that there is another side to this.

Perhaps I have been so focused on teaching her that responsibility is what you pay for freedom that I’ve overlooked something more fundamental: our willingness to take responsibility for ourselves is what makes freedom possible in the first place.

Freedom isn't simply about being allowed to do whatever we want however we want or having more power or less restrictions. It isn't about pushing against every boundary because we feel that we have the right to.

That may look like freedom, but in reality, sometimes it may just be an act of resistance.

True freedom asks us to also recognize what truly matters, to make our own choices AND be willing to take ownership of them, come what may.

And perhaps that is something we are all still learning, no matter our age.

When I look at many of the challenges we face as human beings, I see the same playing out in some ways.

Many argue about our rights and freedoms: freedom of speech, the right to bear arms, the freedom to love, freedom of religion, bodily autonomy, and so many others. These rights matter. They deserve to be protected.

But I also find myself wondering: while we are focused on defending our freedoms, how often do we also spend the same effort and energy to pause and reflect on our willingness to take responsibility for ourselves?

Not the responsibilities we believe others should carry. Not the rules or beliefs we want to impose on those around us. But our own responsibility for our words, our actions, our choices, and the impact they may have on others.

How willing are we to look honestly at ourselves? To acknowledge where we may be contributing to the very issues we want to change, in one way or another? To recognize that our freedom does not exist in isolation from the freedom of others? That our freedom to be who we are should not be at the expense of others’?

We may have the freedom to act, to speak, and to choose. But without a willingness to take responsibility for how we exercise those freedoms, are we truly free the way we imagine ourselves to be?

I wonder what kind of world we might create if we are willing to also turn our attention inward. To be more honest with ourselves, to be more accountable for our choices, and more willing to live in a way that respects both our own freedom and that of others.

Maybe in that process, we may realize this deep sense of freedom that we are fighting for is something that we first need to cultivate within ourselves. And in turn that guides us in how we want to fight for the freedom for our world, for those who need our support, and for what truly matters.

This brings me back to that evening in front of the mirror.

I could blame menopause for what my body was going through. I could wish I had more resources, more time, or more support in my life. I could be frustrated by all the hidden problems we have been discovering left behind by the previous owners. Or be resentful if I wasn’t being heard by my husband had I not ask for what I needed.

While some of those frustrations may be true and justifiable, the truth is, none of them would truly set me free.

Instead, what I could do was take responsibility for what was mine to tend to, within the capacity that I have in me.

When I followed that impulse to run that morning, I was making a choice for myself. A small one perhaps, but one that was rooted in something deeper. Because I was listening to what I needed. To acknowledge the pattern I had fallen back into, uncomfortable as it was, without judgement and shame. And to choose differently, one small choice at a time.

In return, I experienced a little more freedom. Not from all the discomfort. (In fact, as I’m writing this, I can feel the soreness in my calves!)

But it is the freedom in that moment, in my body, to be where I am at.

Perhaps that is where we can begin.

The willingness to meet ourselves where we are, to take responsibility for what is ours to tend to, and to make room for what we need, with what capacity we have.

Perhaps freedom begins when we exercise our own will to live in a way that honors who we are, wherever we are, one small step at a time.

And in those moments, maybe we will discover that freedom isn't always about seeking to be free from something, but simply reconnecting with what’s innate in all of us – our will to be free.