Did you ever think something was impossible…
until one day, you paused and thought: “But what if it’s not?”
Maybe you once said, “I’ll never move countries just for love.”
And then… you did.
Maybe not out of logic. But out of feeling.
And that feeling opened a new chapter.
I remember when I told my Hebrew classmate that maybe she shouldn’t rush into moving to France with her new boyfriend—
that maybe it wasn’t “rational.”
She looked at me and said, “You’re saying that? Didn’t you move from Vietnam to Israel for love?”
And I laughed. Because yes.
I did.
That’s when I realized:
We all make choices we never imagined we’d make.
But the real question is—do we know why we made them?
Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of a busy day,
wondering:
- Why do I live here?
- Why did I choose this partner, this work, this life?
- Did I choose them? Or did they just… happen to me?
And then I ask:
Am I happy with these choices?
Maybe not happy, but… content?
When everyone around me started pressuring me and my husband to have a third child,
I had to stop and ask:
“Do I want another child? Or do I just think I should because everyone here has three?”
Back in Vietnam, two children is normal.
But here in Israel, three is the default—even for families that aren’t very religious.
But…
Do I want to go through postpartum depression again?
Sleepless nights, clogged ducts, broken nerves?
I couldn’t find a real yes.
I already have two beautiful children.
And I have ideas. For my life. My own life.
I need time, energy, a body that still belongs to me.
And yet, there was that little voice:
“But everyone else here has three…”
That’s when I realized:
So many of my choices had been automatic.
Not conscious.
Not questioned.
Just… copied.
I once joined a work meeting just one week after giving birth.
The HR manager asked, “Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve rescheduled.”
And I said, “Never mind. I can handle it. I’m planning to come back to work soon anyway.”
She looked at me and asked:
“But why do you work so hard?”
And I didn’t know what to say.
Now, I do.
Because I was raised to never stop.
Because rest felt like failure.
Because I thought being “valuable” meant being busy.
Because the women in my country lived through war and poverty and scarcity—and I inherited that fear like a birthmark.
It wasn’t until I burned out and finally rested that I could see it all clearly:
That I wasn’t weak.
I was just… following an invisible program.
And now, I try to ask myself:
“Why am I doing this?”
Even small things.
Like if I feel guilty for buying good shoes for my knee pain.
I pause and ask:
“Do I really need to feel this guilt? Or is it just a habit I inherited?”
If my finances are fine, then the guilt isn’t rational.
It’s psychological.
And I have to consciously tell myself:
“It’s okay. I’m allowed to have comfort. I’m allowed to choose what supports me.”
So here’s the invitation:
If something doesn’t feel right—
stop. Ask.
Don’t just keep going.
Maybe your discomfort is not a flaw.
Maybe it’s a clue.
To your old patterns.
To your invisible fears.
To a choice you didn’t know you had.
And maybe, just maybe—
you’ll find that you’re allowed to choose again.
you’ll find that you’re allowed to choose again.
EMÉA - Beauty in Harmony 
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