What if the meaning of life isn't something you find, but something you create?
​
In a world that often rewards conformity and productivity over authenticity, many people—especially creative thinkers—drift away from the deep sense of meaning that once lit them up inside. We lose our way, not because we lack talent or drive, but because we’ve been taught to trade purpose for approval, curiosity for control, and creativity for security. Yet, meaning is not a luxury. It’s a psychological necessity.

Psychologist Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and founder of logotherapy, wrote: “Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear almost any ‘how.’” When we live with purpose, we build resilience, clarity, and vitality. Without it, even the most "successful" life can feel hollow.
This article is a roadmap back to your own creative meaning. Whether you’re a painter, a therapist, a writer, a parent, or a visionary of any kind, you have a reason for being—and it’s time to reconnect with it.

The modern world has pulled many of us away from our core creative identities. Particularly for creative people, the search for stability or acceptance can slowly erode a sense of authentic meaning. Here's how that disconnection often unfolds:
​
1. Leaving Creativity Behind for "Real Life"
Many creatives are taught, either directly or indirectly, that their passions are impractical. They’re nudged toward more "responsible" career paths that promise financial security but offer little emotional or existential fulfillment. Research shows that intrinsic motivation—doing something for the joy and meaning of it—drops when external motivators like money or approval take over (Ryan & Deci, 2000). Over time, creativity becomes a nostalgic hobby, rather than a compass for living.

2. People-Pleasing and Identity Displacement
Creative individuals often have heightened sensitivity to feedback and a strong desire to belong. While this empathy is a strength, it can lead to chronic people-pleasing, especially in environments that undervalue originality. Over time, creatives may internalize others’ expectations as their own, losing sight of their authentic goals. According to research on self-determination theory, autonomy is a key pillar of psychological health—without it, motivation and well-being erode (Deci & Ryan, 1985).

3. Gaslighting in the Arts and Cultural Devaluation
In some cases, creatives are directly told their work isn't “real,” “valuable,” or “important.” They may be subtly or overtly gaslit into believing their creative instincts are self-indulgent or unworthy. This is particularly true in underrepresented communities where creative expression has historically been minimized or exploited. These psychological wounds are not just personal—they’re systemic.

4. The Pandemic and Existential Disconnection
The COVID-19 pandemic intensified this crisis. For many, it stripped away routines, connections, and external structures. For creatives who were already teetering on the edge of burnout or identity confusion, the forced isolation and global uncertainty deepened the disconnect. Meaning, which thrives in connection and expression, was silenced for survival.

Other Ways We Have Lost Meaning
Over time, our sense of meaning can become muddled—not because we lack purpose, but because the world makes it hard to stay connected to it. Other important ways meaning can be lost include the pressures and patterns we often absorb without noticing. Burnout and creative exhaustion can take hold when we overextend ourselves in roles that don’t align with who we are. Productivity culture glorifies constant output, leaving little room for intention or presence. Social media encourages us to perform our identities instead of truly living them. Many of us carry wounds from childhood—being told we're "too much" or "not enough" for being sensitive, imaginative, or different. And without a supportive, creative community, the sense of belonging that fuels meaning can start to erode. These forces chip away at our inner clarity, leaving us feeling unmoored, like we’re going through the motions without a thread to hold onto.

Purpose is not just a poetic idea—it is a foundational psychological need. When individuals live with a sense of purpose, they experience better mental health, stronger resilience, and a more satisfying quality of life. For creative people, purpose often takes the form of making meaning, expressing truth, and contributing something unique to the world. When that purpose is obscured or denied, the result is often depression, burnout, and disconnection.

Psychological research defines purpose as a stable and generalized intention to accomplish something that is both meaningful to the self and leads to a productive engagement with the world (Damon, Menon, & Bronk, 2003). It gives individuals a sense of coherence—an internal framework that helps them make sense of their experiences and decisions.

Purpose is also closely linked with eudaimonic well-being, a type of well-being that goes beyond pleasure or happiness to include meaning, growth, and self-realization (Ryff & Singer, 2008). In contrast, when people live without a clear sense of purpose, they are more vulnerable to anxiety, hopelessness, and disengagement from life. They may go through the motions—working, socializing, achieving goals—yet feel numb, hollow, or invisible.

For creative minds, purpose isn't a nice-to-have—it’s oxygen. Purpose provides the structure for imagination to flourish and the motivation to keep showing up to the work, even when it's hard. Without it, creativity can spiral into perfectionism, avoidance, or self-doubt. A purposeful creative practice becomes a place of integration, where values, identity, and expression meet.

In a 2010 study, researchers found that people with a high sense of purpose were less reactive to stress and had better sleep, healthier cortisol patterns, and stronger immune function (Ryff, Singer, & Love, 2004). These are not just nice side effects—they are essential, especially for creatives who often experience emotional intensity more acutely than others.

One of the most powerful aspects of purpose is that it is self-defined. No one else can give it to you—and no one else can take it away. Creative purpose is not limited to career success, fame, or financial gain. It might be nurturing a family with intention, making art that sparks emotion, mentoring others, or simply living in a way that feels true to your spirit.

When people begin to reclaim this sense of purpose, they often report a surge in energy, clarity, and joy. Purpose doesn’t eliminate struggle—it gives struggle a context. It helps us endure the mundane and the painful because we know what we’re here for.

What does it feel like to live with purpose? And what happens when that sense of purpose is missing?

Understanding both sides of this experience can be clarifying, especially for creatives who may not realize how deeply purpose—or the lack of it—is shaping their emotional and psychological landscape.

Life Without Purpose: A Quiet Drift
Without purpose, life often feels directionless. Days blur together. Achievements lose their flavor. You may be busy—checking off tasks, meeting expectations, staying "productive"—but feel unfulfilled or unseen. For creatives, this can show up as a chronic sense of stuckness: unfinished projects, lost confidence, or anxiety that no amount of effort seems to fix.

Psychologically, the absence of purpose has been linked to increased depression, substance use, and even suicidal ideation (Kleiman et al., 2013). The human brain is wired to seek meaning—when it can’t find it, it often turns inward, defaulting to rumination, self-criticism, or avoidance. Creative people, especially those who are neurodivergent or highly sensitive, may feel this loss even more intensely, as their inner worlds depend on meaning to stay emotionally regulated and inspired.

Life With Purpose: A Grounded Flame
Living with purpose, by contrast, creates a powerful inner orientation. It doesn’t mean every day is easy, but it does mean that your struggles feel worth it. Purpose acts like a compass: when decisions, relationships, and opportunities arise, you have a framework to evaluate them. Does this align with my purpose? Does this bring me closer to the life I want to create?

People who live with purpose report greater resilience and life satisfaction, even in the face of adversity (Hill, Burrow, & Sumner, 2013). They’re more likely to persist through creative blocks, recover from failure, and feel emotionally fulfilled by their work. They also tend to experience what's known as "flow" more frequently—a deep state of immersion and joy that often occurs during meaningful creative activity (Csikszentmihalyi, 1990).

For creatives, the difference between living with and without purpose can be dramatic. A purposeful creative practice can offer:

- Emotional regulation: A safe space for self-expression and healing.
- Clarity of voice: Confidence in your perspective and message.
- Connection: A way to reach others, contribute, and belong.
- Momentum: A reason to keep going, even when inspiration fades.

When creative people reconnect with their “why,” their work changes—becomes richer, braver, more honest. But more importantly, they change. They feel anchored in something that’s both deeply personal and universally human.

When individuals suppress their true values, desires, and creative instincts to fit external molds, they experience what's known in psychology as self-alienation. Over time, this disconnect from one’s core self can lead to anxiety, depression, and a diminished sense of vitality (Kernis & Goldman, 2006). In other words, inauthentic living is not just unfulfilling—it’s psychologically harmful.

Creatives often know this intuitively. They sense when they’re editing themselves too much, performing rather than expressing, or making choices that feel "off." But breaking out of those patterns often feels risky. That’s because it is.

Authenticity Requires Loss—and That’s Okay
Living in alignment with your purpose may cost you relationships, routines, or recognition that no longer serve who you truly are. You may lose approval. You may face doubt. You may discover that the life you built doesn't reflect your deepest self—and that it’s time to rebuild.

This stage requires grief and guts. But the tradeoff is freedom. Freedom to express yourself. Freedom to create what only you can. Freedom to feel at home in your own life.

Bravery doesn’t mean never feeling fear—it means moving forward despite it. In psychological terms, this aligns with values-based action from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (Hayes et al., 1999), which emphasizes choosing behavior that aligns with your values, even when it’s uncomfortable.

For creatives, bravery might look like:
- Sharing vulnerable work
- Saying “no” to misaligned opportunities
- Returning to art after a long break
- Setting boundaries with critics, both internal and external
- Choosing authenticity over acceptance

Finding and living your purpose is not a one-time event—it’s a practice. A brave one. It asks you to lead yourself, to keep asking “what matters most to me?” and to trust the answers that rise.

And while it’s not always easy, it’s always worth it.

Purpose doesn’t come with a single definition—and it certainly doesn’t look the same for everyone. While some find meaning in their careers or creative practice, others connect with it through relationships, service, or spirituality. What matters is not *what* your purpose looks like, but *how* it resonates with your inner truth.

Here are a few of the most common areas where people—and particularly creative people—find purpose:

The Arts and Creative Expression
For many, the creative process itself is a direct expression of purpose. Making music, painting, writing, designing, dancing—these are not just hobbies. They are sacred acts of meaning-making. In studies of artists and creators, purpose is often described as the “why” behind the work: a desire to communicate, to process emotion, or to contribute to something larger (Richards, 2007).

Creative expression allows individuals to leave a personal imprint on the world. It transforms internal experiences into shared realities—and in doing so, connects the artist with their own humanity and the humanity of others.

Career and Vocation
Purpose can also be found in the work we do—especially when that work aligns with personal values. This doesn’t necessarily mean pursuing a “dream job” or working in the arts full-time. It may look like mentoring others, innovating solutions, or contributing to a mission-driven organization.

Research has shown that people who view their jobs as a calling—rather than simply a career or a paycheck—report higher life satisfaction and engagement (Wrzesniewski, McCauley, Rozin, & Schwartz, 1997).

Spirituality
Many people find purpose through a spiritual or faith-based connection, whether rooted in religion or personal belief systems. This form of purpose is often described as transcendent—it goes beyond the self and links individuals to a sense of divine, universal, or cosmic meaning.

For creatives, spirituality may appear in their work as symbols, rituals, or themes of transformation. It may also be felt through practices that ground them—meditation, nature, prayer, or community.

Relationships and Family
Purpose is frequently found in the roles we play in the lives of others: as parents, partners, friends, caregivers, or advocates. These relationships give life a felt sense of mattering. They tether us to something beyond our individual ego and invite us to grow in love, patience, and responsibility.

In fact, purpose tied to social connection—especially when rooted in compassion and contribution—has been found to be one of the strongest predictors of long-term wellbeing (Martela & Steger, 2016).

Healing, Activism, and Service
Purpose can also arise from pain. People who have endured trauma, loss, or oppression often find deep meaning in helping others heal. This might look like becoming a therapist, telling difficult stories through art, or engaging in activism and advocacy.

Viktor Frankl, Holocaust survivor and founder of logotherapy, famously wrote: *“Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear almost any ‘how’”* (Frankl, 1959). For many creatives, purpose comes from transforming suffering into beauty, growth, and change.

You could go along with the normative milieu, following status quo expectations and living a “low-maintenance” life. But if you're reading this, that likely isn’t you. Most creative individuals feel a deep inner drive to live authentically, meaningfully, and purposefully. It is in their nature to seek truth, expression, and alignment. And when they do, they don’t just survive—they thrive.

So the question becomes: How will you make your meaning? What will your purpose be? What does your soul need this to be?

Like the North Star of your creative life, you need a guiding principle—a Creative Life Purpose Statement—to help you navigate choices and align your energy toward what matters most.

A Creative Life Purpose Statement is a powerful tool for clarity. It helps articulate the specific direction in which you want to live, create, and contribute. Drawing from the work of creativity coach Eric Maisel (2005), a robust life purpose statement often includes:

- Making use of your innate talents and abilities—your heart, mind, and hands
- Using your whole being every day, rather than sporadically
- Serving truth-telling and other personally meaningful values
- Getting genuine satisfaction from life
- Working hard on meaningful projects
- Entering into loving relationships

These elements invite you to engage fully, with intention, in every domain of your life. They move you away from passive existence and toward conscious living.

Why Does This Matter for Creative People?
Purpose gives you an internal compass. As Maisel notes, it guides your decisions. But here’s the catch: discovering your creative purpose is rarely a linear or simple process. It involves *honesty*, *reflection*, and sometimes the hard realization that what you thought mattered… doesn’t.

When the author first wrote her Creative Life Purpose Statement, she found that one of her values—initially believed to be central—was actually more of a conditioned response than a true desire. It took revisiting, reflection, and courage to revise the statement in a way that honored her authentic self. This process is normal—and necessary.

You might choose to include all six components of Maisel’s framework, or focus on a few that resonate most deeply. Begin by asking:

- What has brought me true joy and meaning?
- What has drained me or felt inauthentic?
- Am I avoiding any desires due to fear or expectation (“shoulds”)?
- What creative or emotional needs are waiting to be voiced?

Write, revise, reflect. This is not a throwaway exercise. It’s soul work.

Once complete, memorize your statement. Keep it close. Use it when making both big and small decisions. It should become a living mantra—a touchstone for alignment. As the author jokes in her own coaching office: “Stitch yours on a pillow.”

You Don’t Have to Do It Alone
For many, the process of defining purpose is transformative—but also challenging. That’s why creativity coaching or counseling can be a powerful support. Many creatives seek help not because they lack talent, but because they want to focus that talent with clarity and intention.

If you feel unsure where to begin, consider working with a creativity professional. Knowing your purpose gives your creative personality a direction—and once you have that, your potential becomes extraordinary.

Creativity Coaching and Creativity Counseling are a great place to start if you are unsure of your creative priorities.  One of the main reasons Creative People begin working with me is with this very question in mind.  That is because having clarity here is very powerful! Once you know where you are going, the full powers of your Creative Personality are formidable in getting you there.  If you would like to get started, I would love to help: 
1) Book a Free Consultation.  All new clients to Creatively, LLC are entitled to a 15 min, free consultation to sit with me and discuss your needs, services available, and we can problem solve and hand-pick best next steps to help you succeed.

(c) 2025 Creatively, LLC
​www.creativelyllc.com

No, Hope isn't Toxic, Creative People and Horses, Successful but Unfulfilled, Creative Personality Paradox,  Anxiety Legacy of 80s Babies,  Healthy Weight, Creative Life,  Horse Therapy for Creatives,  Should I Quit Social Media for Creatives, Creativity and ADHD, Boundaries for Creative People,  The Creative-prenuer Revolution,  The Nurturer Trap,  When Family Hurts, A Creative Hierarchy of Needs, ​

References

Frankl, V. E. (1959). Man’s search for meaning. Beacon Press.

Kashdan, T. B., & McKnight, P. E. (2009). Origins of purpose in life: Refining our understanding of a life well lived. Psicothema, 21(1), 289–297.

Maisel, E. (2005). Coaching the artist within: Advice for writers, actors, visual artists, and musicians from America's foremost creativity coach. New World Library.

Martela, F., & Steger, M. F. (2016). The three meanings of meaning in life: Distinguishing coherence, purpose, and significance. The Journal of Positive Psychology, 11(5), 531–545. https://doi.org/10.1080/17439760.2015.1137623

Richards, R. (2007). Everyday creativity and new views of human nature: Psychological, social, and spiritual perspectives. American Psychological Association. https://doi.org/10.1037/11595-000

Wrzesniewski, A., McCauley, C., Rozin, P., & Schwartz, B. (1997). Jobs, careers, and callings: People’s relations to their work. Journal of Research in Personality, 31(1), 21–33. https://doi.org/10.1006/jrpe.1997.2162

How did you read the title? Did you read NO HOPE isn't toxic? Did you read NO, hope isn't toxic? Why should you care? Read on, and I'll let you decide. 

This blog was written in my head while sitting in the ER with my adopted dog, Marvel, who was fighting for his life. As I held him close, processing the worst news and trying to summon every ounce of hope, I realized how deeply hope shapes our lives—especially in the hardest moments. It's a force that pushes us to keep going, even when things seem grim. So, I hope to reintroduce you to the concept of hope, through the very real experiences and thoughts of a psychotherapist, and how it’s shown up in my life in unexpected ways.

Hope has often been painted as something that can let us down. It’s easy to think of hope as a kind of vulnerability that sets us up for disappointment. But I’ve come to realize that hope isn’t toxic. It’s something essential. It’s a thread that keeps you moving forward, even when the path ahead is unclear or filled with obstacles. It's a lesson I have learned in many ways.

I’ve asked myself over time, “Does it hurt more to hope?” It comes from the part of me that wonders if it would have been easier to abandon hope altogether, to walk away from something before it could hurt. But I’ve learned that abandoning hope doesn’t make the pain go away. Nor does having hope lessen the sting of disappointment.  It does, however, make the moment meaningful. The act of hoping shows you care, it connects you to your dreams and aspirations, and when you look back, it often helps you realize how much you’ve grown through the journey—regardless of the outcome.

Hope doesn’t set you up for pain—it sets you up for possibility. It shows what matters to you. For me, there are many times when I’ve leaned on hope—not because I thought it would guarantee success, but because it helped me step fully into what I was working toward. It made me realize just how deeply invested I was in the outcome. There’s power in that connection. And sometimes, as if by magic, that hope manifested something tangible. It’s not just wishful thinking—it’s a commitment to yourself and to the future.

Marvel, my rescue dog, has taught me a lot about hope. When I first brought him home, he quickly became ill, and we couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. He spent time in the hospital, and after a lot of tests, we speculated it might have been a bloodborne parasite, something notoriously difficult to diagnose. He got better, and for a while, life seemed normal again.

But just a few days ago, his symptoms returned, and now they were worse. I recognized the signs right away and rushed him to the vet who transferred us to the ER. This time, things escalated quickly—his condition was severe, and the ER vet gave me little hope, telling me his chances were grim, and I might not have him much longer. They ruled out the parasite and diagnosed him with a severe organ infection that could lead to organ failure. I heard the words I feared the most, but I knew I had to try. Tearstained and heartbroken, I whispered to him, “It won’t hurt less to lose you if I give you all my hope.” I asked the ER vet, and subsequently my own, to give Marvel every possible treatment, no matter how slim the odds.

Somehow, through it all, Marvel pulled through. He made it from Friday to Saturday, then Sunday. Today, it’s Monday, and he’s still with us—slowly improving, one day at a time.

Marvel's story, though unfinished, reminds me that hope isn’t about a guarantee. It's not about the certainty of a happy ending, but the strength to continue, to offer everything you have, even when the future seems uncertain. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring for Marvel, but what I do know is that the act of hoping gave him the strength to keep fighting, and in doing so, gave me the courage to keep going too. Hope, it turns out, doesn’t promise a perfect outcome. But it’s the very thing that can get us through the hardest days.

What’s remarkable now, as Marvel fights for his life, is the sheer amount of collective hope surrounding him. It's no longer just my hope that he pulls through—it’s the hope of the entire veterinary hospital. The vets and techs, who have worked tirelessly, supporting him every step of the way, are invested in his recovery. There’s even an angel funder who stepped in to support his ongoing care, a true act of kindness that reminds me how hope can spread beyond those directly involved.

And then, there’s my circle—friends, family, even acquaintances who have heard Marvel’s story and sent their thoughts and positive energy. It’s overwhelming, this wave of collective hope, and it has wrapped itself around Marvel like a blanket. It’s impossible not to feel the strength of all those voices cheering for him.

Does it make a difference? Does all this hope, this unity, actually influence his outcome? I can’t say for certain. Hope, after all, is not a guarantee. But what I do know is this: it doesn’t hurt to give it. And if all this collective hope gives him even a fraction more strength, then it’s worth it. For him, and for all of us who care so deeply about his well-being.  The hoping inspires new ideas, continued effort, and positivity. So, we keep hoping—together—one day at a time.

Looking back, I think my relationship with hope really started with college applications. I poured everything into hoping for the schools I dreamed of—top-tier universities with impressive names, campuses that I imagined myself thriving in. I wanted it so badly, I almost convinced myself that if I hoped enough, I could manifest that future.

Did I get into those dream schools? Not even close. I was waitlisted by every single one. When I found out, I crumbled. All that hope, all that energy, felt wasted in an instant. But what happened next was unexpected. I ended up at a small liberal arts school, one that I hadn’t initially considered as highly. And there, I thrived.

How did my hope impact my outcome? Did it give me the exact result I had hoped for? No, it didn’t. But did it give me the outcome I needed? I can’t say for sure. What I do know is that my hope showed me, and others around me, just how deeply I was invested in my future. It propelled me forward in a way that didn’t allow me to give up on what I wanted. It taught me that the value of hope doesn’t lie in the result, but in the drive it gives you to continue pursuing what matters to you.

Hope showed up for me again when I was trying to conceive both of my children. I waited until I was about 30 to start trying, so it wasn’t just a “one and done” scenario for me. Each pregnancy test was full of hope. But after months of tests, I started to try withholding that hope. "Don't get your hopes up," I’d tell myself. "You’re putting yourself through too much of a rollercoaster."

Did it hurt less that way? Absolutely not. Every negative test still brought the same discouragement and despair, whether I let myself hope or not. What I came to realize was that my months of trying were actually sadder when I didn’t allow myself to dream, yet still ended in the same disappointment. It didn’t make sense. Hope was my investment, in my family and our future. Pretending it wasn’t there just felt like numbing myself, like lying to myself. It wasn’t living.

We conceived and had my first son, and three years later tried for another baby with even more frustration. When I finally made peace with having just one child after months of trying for a second, and agreed with my husband that we’d try just “one last time,” I had so much hope for that month. And, of course, on that very “last try,” we conceived my second son.

I continued my "hopeducation" with my art career, during one of my worst shows. I was part of a large group exhibition and walked into the reception full of hope and excitement, eager to see my work displayed on the walls. But after circling the venue several times, I couldn’t find it anywhere. I felt sick, embarrassed, and honestly, a little stupid. You know that feeling when your hope crashes so hard it makes you question everything? It’s the worst.

On a whim, I walked into the refreshment area, only to find my pieces hidden behind chairs, with patrons sitting in front of them, resting their heads on the canvases. I wanted to vomit. Instead, I stood there in shame, then proceeded to awkwardly ask if I could retrieve my artwork from behind them. Can you imagine? “Excuse me, could I have my art back, please?”

I walked out of the venue with my art tucked under my arm, feeling utterly humiliated. Sitting on my front stoop, I cried hot tears of shame. My hopes were dashed.

I called a friend, who, with so much clarity, said, “This is your passion for your art showing up—this is how much you care about your work. What will you do about it?”

What would I do about it? I could either hide in my shame or find a way to rekindle a tiny flame of hope—that my art was valuable, not because of anyone else’s validation, but simply because I believed in it.

Would you believe I chose the latter? I reached out to the show curator, who apologized profusely and, to my surprise, offered me my first solo exhibition at the same gallery. That show received rave reviews. Did I have high hopes for it? Absolutely. And those hopes were rewarded.

That moment taught me that hope isn’t just about outcomes. It’s about my emotions showing me that I wasn’t ready to give up on my art.

When I finally started my own business, it became the ultimate exercise in everything I had learned about hope. Hope is what drives you to show up, to put your passion forward, and to make yourself vulnerable in the best way. It reveals what matters most and gives you the energy to take risks, even when things go wrong.

Since launching my business, I’ve made mistakes, learned, adapted, and shed many tears. But there have been countless moments of pride, satisfaction, and fulfillment too. Was the hope that I would succeed toxic? Absolutely not. From the first time I sketched a logo in my journal, it has fueled me with purpose, helping me manifest my dreams, believe in myself, and keep going.

Today, my business is thriving, and I feel even more connected to my mission. I know it’s not because of some magical outcome I anticipated. It’s because I took every hope, every failure, and every success, and allowed them to push me forward.

Hope is a beautiful life force. Don’t be afraid to ignite yours and see where it takes you. If you’re feeling inspired, take a moment to explore new ways to bring your own creative idea into reality. Starting something of your own, no matter how big or small, is a step forward in nurturing that hope. Let it lead you!

Through these experiences—whether with my dog Marvel, college applications, pregnancy tests, art shows, or starting my own business—I’ve learned that hope isn’t about certainty or expecting an outcome. It’s about showing up, staying vulnerable, and giving yourself permission to feel, even when the path is unclear. Hope has taught me that it’s okay to invest emotionally in what matters, to acknowledge disappointment without losing your belief in what could be, and to keep pushing forward, even when the odds are stacked against you. Hope isn’t toxic; it’s the quiet fuel that keeps us moving, growing, and believing in what’s possible.

So, to anyone who tells you hope is toxic or dangerous, I urge you to rethink it. Hope is the lifeblood of possibility. It’s what pushes us to try again, to keep moving forward, and to dream even when it feels futile. Hope doesn’t always give us the answers, but it gives us the strength to keep asking.