The Purple House Does Your Life Look Like You?

You can usually figure out somebody’s favorite color without asking them.

Just walk through the house they’ve lived in for twenty years.

If their favorite color is purple, eventually purple tells on them.

Purple throw blanket.

Purple coffee mug.

Purple flowers on the table.

A lavender candle in the bathroom.

Some ridiculous purple kitchen gadget they absolutely did not need but bought anyway because—

purple.

😂

Nobody has to announce:

“My favorite color is purple.”

Their choices have been answering the question for years.

One little choice at a time, their preferences accumulate until their environment begins to look unmistakably like them.

And recently I realized something:

Our lives work the same way.

A life becomes the accumulated evidence of what we keep saying yes to.

Which means there is another side to this.

What happens when you spend years saying yes to things that don’t actually feel like you?

What happens when you don’t trust yourself enough to choose the purple?

There was a long stretch of my life when I was living inside a life that, looking back, barely looked like Jasmine.

I was married for fourteen years.

During much of that time, I was deeply involved in church culture.

I wore dresses every day.

I sang in the choir.

I homeschooled my children.

I knocked on strangers’ doors on Saturdays and warned them about hell.

Yes.

Me.

😂🤦‍♀️

I attended a church whose ideas about gender often placed men firmly at the top and women underneath them.

There were standards and expectations I didn’t always agree with internally.

But I followed many of them anyway.

And I want to be very clear about something before this story goes any farther:

There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those choices.

A woman may genuinely love wearing dresses every day.

Another mother may feel completely fulfilled homeschooling.

Someone else may deeply believe in evangelism.

Another woman may happily participate in a traditional marriage structure because it authentically reflects her values.

That is not what this chapter is about.

The problem was not:

Those choices were wrong.

The problem was:

I had stopped asking whether they were mine.

I didn’t trust myself.

That was the deeper wound.

I was extraordinarily good at looking around a room, figuring out who I was supposed to be there, and becoming her.

I was a chameleon.

And because I was pursuing something I believed was morally good, I didn’t recognize what was happening as self-abandonment.

That part matters.

I wasn’t standing in front of the mirror thinking:

Today I shall betray Jasmine.

😂

I thought I was doing life correctly.

I wanted to be a good Christian woman.

And somewhere along the way, “good” became an image I was trying to achieve instead of a set of values I had actually examined for myself.

So I listened.

What does a good Christian woman wear?

Okay.

What does she believe?

Got it.

What does a good wife do?

Okay.

How should she raise her children?

Got it.

How should she relate to her husband?

Okay.

What should she think about this?

What should she reject?

What should she accept?

What should she fear?

What should she call righteous?

Tell me.

I’ll learn it.

I became very good at doing what I believed was expected of the person I was trying to be.

And for a while, that felt like virtue.

Because when you don’t trust yourself, following someone else’s certainty can feel remarkably safe.

Imagine that purple house again.

Except the woman who loves purple doesn’t trust her own taste.

She picks up a purple pillow.

Someone says:

“Purple is tacky.”

She puts it back.

She considers painting the living room lavender.

Someone says:

“A respectable home should be neutral.”

Beige it is.

She wants the ridiculous purple couch.

Someone she trusts says:

“You’ll regret that. Get gray. Gray is timeless.”

So she buys the gray couch.

Then the cream curtains.

Then the white rug.

Then the sensible artwork.

Every individual decision seems tiny.

Reasonable, even.

Twenty years later she walks into her own living room and thinks:

This is a perfectly nice house.

And yet—

nothing in it knows her.

That was me.

Except the house was my life.

That is the strange thing about self-abandonment.

Sometimes it looks dramatic.

But often it looks incredibly responsible.

Polite.

Acceptable.

Good.

Sometimes self-abandonment gets applause.

People tell you how devoted you are.

How selfless.

How disciplined.

How godly.

How agreeable.

And because everyone around you seems pleased with the version of you they’re receiving, it can take a very long time to notice that you are no longer among the people being consulted.

I think that is why it took me so long.

I wasn’t rebelling against myself.

I was trying to be good.

And I had confused goodness with correctness.

I thought there was one correct way to build a life, and if I could follow the instructions carefully enough, happiness and safety would eventually appear.

But something inside me kept getting quieter.

The funny thing is, I was still in there.

Jasmine did not disappear.

She just stopped getting many votes.

She still loved color.

Flowers.

Creativity.

Questions.

Humor.

Curiosity.

Freedom.

A little irreverence.

Okay, quite a bit of irreverence.

😂

She still had opinions.

She still noticed when something didn’t make sense.

She still felt the tiny internal resistance when someone handed her a belief and expected her not to inspect it.

But I had learned not to trust those little signals.

Because what if I was wrong?

What if my instincts were selfish?

What if my questions were rebellion?

What if my preferences were vanity?

What if being myself somehow meant I wasn’t being good?

So I continued looking outward.

Other people became mirrors I used to decide what Jasmine was supposed to look like.

And if you do that long enough, eventually you become excellent at recognizing everyone except yourself.

Healing has been, in many ways, the process of reversing that.

Not by becoming rebellious for rebellion’s sake.

Not by deciding everything I once believed must therefore be wrong.

That would still be allowing other people to dictate my choices—just in reverse.

If someone says:

“Wear beige.”

And I automatically say:

“Then I MUST wear purple!”

I am still letting them choose the color.

😂

Real self-trust has been quieter.

It sounds like:

Do I actually like purple?

That question seems almost laughably simple.

But after years of adaptation, it can be profound.

Do I actually believe this?

Do I actually want this?

Do I enjoy this?

Does this relationship fit me?

Does this spiritual belief feel true when nobody is grading my answer?

Am I doing this because it reflects my values—or because I am afraid of disappointing someone?

Would I still choose this if nobody applauded?

Would I still say yes if nobody called me good?

Those questions started giving Jasmine her vote back.

And then something beautiful happened.

My life started looking like me again.

Not all at once.

That is the important part.

I didn’t wake up one morning with a complete blueprint labeled:

THE AUTHENTIC JASMINE EXPERIENCE

Now available in stores.

😂

I just started making little choices.

Flowers.

Yes.

Making things with my hands.

Yes.

Writing.

Yes.

Gardening.

Yes.

Questioning beliefs that didn’t feel honest anymore.

Yes.

Humor.

Absolutely.

Rest.

Eventually, yes.

Boundaries.

Painful yes.

Friendships where I can actually be myself.

Yes.

A website full of wildflowers, butterflies, stories, healing tools and ridiculous metaphors.

Apparently a very loud yes.

One choice.

Then another.

Then another.

And now when I step back and look at Wildflower Whimsy, my writing, my crafts, my home, my relationships, my philosophies, the way I spend an ordinary day—

I can see the purple.

😂

It looks like Jasmine lives here.

And that made me realize something about authenticity.

Authenticity isn’t necessarily one giant declaration:

THIS IS WHO I AM!

Sometimes authenticity is just repeatedly refusing to abandon the little truth in front of you.

I like this.

I don’t like that.

I believe this.

I’m not sure about that.

I need rest.

I want to make something.

That relationship doesn’t feel healthy for me.

That person’s opinion does not need to become my identity.

I changed my mind.

I don’t know.

No.

Yes.

Little truthful choices.

And eventually those choices accumulate.

Just like purple pillows.

The reverse is true too.

If you keep saying yes to everyone except yourself, eventually your life can stop looking like you.

One yes probably won’t do it.

But hundreds?

Thousands?

Yes to expectations.

Yes to fear.

Yes to keeping the peace.

Yes to the identity someone else believes is respectable.

Yes to roles you didn’t choose consciously.

Yes to beliefs you never actually examined.

Yes to staying quiet.

Yes to being easy.

Yes to being whatever the room rewards.

Eventually you may look around and wonder:

How did I get here?

And the uncomfortable answer may be:

One little yes at a time.

But that is also the hopeful answer.

Because if a life can become unfamiliar one choice at a time—

it can become familiar again the same way.

You do not need to blow everything up tonight.

You do not need to quit your job, leave your spouse, dye your hair blue, buy a motorcycle, and announce that you are finally authentic.

Please do not cite Wildflower Whimsy in the divorce paperwork.

😂

Start smaller.

Look around your life.

Does your home look like you?

Does your calendar?

Your closet?

Your friendships?

Your beliefs?

Your hobbies?

The way you spend your free time?

The way you speak when you are not trying to impress anybody?

Does the life around you contain evidence that you were here choosing it?

Or does it mostly contain evidence of what everyone else expected?

That question can be uncomfortable.

But it can also be incredibly freeing.

Because maybe you discover that large parts of your life already fit beautifully.

Keep them.

Authenticity does not require throwing away everything you inherited.

Some seeds planted by other people grow into things we genuinely love.

The question is simply:

Would I still choose this now?

If yes—

beautiful.

Choose it again.

But now let the choice belong to you.

That is something I wish I had understood earlier.

A belief can begin as someone else’s and eventually become genuinely mine.

A tradition can be inherited and still fit.

A dress can be authentic.

Homeschooling can be authentic.

Church can be authentic.

Marriage can be authentic.

Even beige can be authentic.

Some people genuinely love beige.

We pray for them.

😂

The goal is not to create some outward aesthetic that screams individuality.

The goal is congruence.

My outer life and inner truth know each other.

That’s it.

And maybe that is what self-trust really is.

Not believing you will always be right.

I certainly won’t.

It is trusting yourself enough to participate in the decision.

To listen inward.

To consider evidence.

To hear other people’s wisdom without automatically handing them authority over your life.

To change your mind when new information arrives.

To say:

Thank you. I’ll consider that.

And then actually consider it.

Not immediately obey it.

Not automatically reject it.

Consider.

Choose.

Own.

I used to think being good meant getting the answer right.

Now I think goodness is much more alive than that.

Maybe goodness looks like honesty.

Compassion.

Accountability.

Love.

Curiosity.

Not harming people unnecessarily.

Repairing when we do.

Learning.

Growing.

And becoming increasingly willing to live what we genuinely believe.

Because I no longer want to perform somebody else’s definition of goodness while quietly disappearing underneath it.

I’ve done that.

The house was respectable.

It just wasn’t mine.

And there is another thing I see now.

When I stopped trusting everyone else more than myself, I didn’t become some selfish monster incapable of receiving guidance.

Quite the opposite.

I became more capable of listening.

Because now another person’s opinion can simply be information.

It doesn’t have to become an instruction.

That changes everything.

You think I should plant roses?

Interesting.

Maybe I will.

Maybe I won’t.

But I no longer need to rip up my sunflowers simply because you prefer roses.

That is self-trust.

And that is the garden again.

Of course it is.

😂

Different people are supposed to grow different lives.

Oneness is not sameness.

Your authentic life may look nothing like mine.

Good.

It shouldn’t.

The goal was never to fill the planet with copies of Jasmine.

Dear God.

Imagine the craft supplies alone.

😂

The goal is for each person to become conscious enough to ask:

What does my life look like when I stop performing and start choosing?

Maybe you love the church you grew up in.

Choose it.

Maybe you don’t.

Choose differently.

Maybe homeschooling makes your whole family come alive.

Beautiful.

Maybe sending everyone to school at 7:30 a.m. preserves the collective sanity.

Also beautiful.

Maybe you want the traditional marriage.

Maybe you don’t want marriage at all.

Maybe your dream home is minimalist.

Maybe yours looks like a fairy exploded in a botanical garden.

Ahem.

😂

None of those choices proves authenticity by itself.

The question underneath all of them is:

Did you choose it?

Not once.

Repeatedly.

Consciously.

Does it still fit?

Does it still feel alive?

Does it reflect what you know now?

Because authenticity is not another identity you perform correctly.

It is an ongoing relationship with yourself.

And I think this is why my life feels so different now.

It is not necessarily because everything became extraordinary.

It is because more of my choices have Jasmine fingerprints on them.

My life has started telling on me.

The flowers.

The writing.

The handmade things.

The weird metaphors.

The jokes.

The garden.

The questions.

The way I understand love.

The way I spend time.

The boundaries.

The people I choose.

My ridiculous affection for butterflies.

At some point, nobody needs to ask:

Who lives here?

It’s painfully obvious.

😂

And that is what I want now.

Not perfection.

Not rebellion.

Not a life so unique that nobody has ever seen anything like it.

Just a life that feels inhabited.

Mine.

Maybe that is the question worth asking every once in a while:

Does my life look like me?

Not the person I was told to become.

Not the person who gets the most applause.

Not the version that makes everyone comfortable.

Me.

And if the answer is no, I don’t need to hate the life I built.

I can have compassion for the person who built it.

She was working with what she knew.

She thought she was being good.

She thought she was doing it right.

She thought following the blueprint would lead her home.

She didn’t know yet that a blueprint can produce a perfectly respectable house that still does not feel like yours.

So I don’t need to burn it down.

I just start choosing again.

Maybe today I buy the purple pillow.

Tomorrow I hang the strange painting.

Next week I finally admit I never liked those curtains.

Choice by choice.

Vote by vote.

Honest yes by honest yes.

Until gradually the life around me begins to recognize me again.

And one day I walk through the door and realize:

Oh.

There I am.

The house looks like me.

The garden looks like me.

The life looks like me.

Not because I finally learned how to be myself correctly.

Because I finally trusted myself enough to participate.

And maybe that is what coming home really is.

Not finding the perfect house.

But finally becoming the person who gets to choose what color it is.

Closing reflections

Look around your life as though you were walking through someone else’s house.

What does it tell you about the person who lives there?

Ask yourself:

Which parts of my life genuinely feel like me?

Which choices did I make because I believed they were what a “good” person was supposed to choose?

Where have I confused approval with alignment?

What do I believe now simply because I once trusted someone else more than myself?

What would I still choose if nobody praised, judged, or graded me for it?

Where am I saying yes while something inside me quietly says no?

What is one small choice I could make today that would make my life feel more like home?

And remember: discovering that something no longer fits does not mean you have to hate the version of yourself who chose it.

She was doing the best she could with the information and self-trust she had at the time.

You don’t have to burn the house down.

Maybe you simply start choosing again.

One purple pillow.

One honest opinion.

One boundary.

One hobby.

One belief you actually believe.

One truthful yes.

Until someday you look around and realize:

There I am.

The house looks like me.

The life looks like me.

Because I finally trusted myself enough to participate in choosing it. 💜