I didn’t think I had much to say about greed.
It felt foreign, like something that belonged to “them.”
The rich, the powerful, the hoarders of wealth, of resources, of control.
Not me. I’m just trying to survive and create beauty. Right?

But when I sat with it… really sat with it… it began to whisper.
And then it roared.

Because it turns out, greed is in me too.
Not the kind that lusts for money or status.
But the kind that’s starved for freedom. For space. For enough.

I’ve spent so much of my life being told I’m free, while feeling everything but.
The cage I’m in doesn’t have iron bars—it has systems, expectations, invisible contracts.
I was born into a structure that asks me to betray my soul just to belong.

And I did. For a while.

I worked hard to not need too much.
To be self-sufficient. Emotionally independent. Spiritually contained.
But that wasn’t strength.
That was survival.
And survival has a hunger to it.
It eats slowly. Quietly.
Until one day, you realize—you’ve been starving.

This is where the greed shows up.
In the desperate need to finally receive.
To claim space.
To feel held.
To be without having to justify your existence.

I’m not ashamed of wanting that anymore.
But I am angry that I was taught not to want it.

And here’s what makes it worse—this society that tells me I’m free, tells me that wanting more is selfish.
That asking for softness is weak.
That needing rest is laziness.
That desiring abundance is indulgent.
Even when I’ve never known what it truly feels like.

And you know what? I feel greedy for peace.
Greedy for time.
Greedy for a world that doesn’t punish sensitivity.
Greedy to no longer have to explain myself just to be taken seriously.

I feel greedy for the version of me who could have blossomed in a gentler world.

But here I am. In this world. With this fire.
And maybe that fire is not a flaw, but a tool.
Maybe it’s not meant to be silenced but honored.

There’s a kind of grief in this.
Grief for all the versions of myself that were unseen, misunderstood, cast aside.
Grief for the times I was told I was too intense, too emotional, too much.

To those people from my past… I see you now.
And I see myself even clearer.

I am not broken. I was never broken.
I was born with eyes that see through masks.
With a heart that refuses to settle for surface.
With a soul that remembers freedom, even when the world forgets.

This is not just personal.
This is sacred.
This is a soul reclaiming its worth.

Yes, the ego is here. Yes, it’s loud.
It wants to protect me. To defend what little I’ve built.
But deeper than the ego is something wilder. Truer. Older.
It’s the part of me that knows:
I didn’t come here to play small.
I didn’t come here to shrink.
I didn’t come here to be told how much I’m allowed to feel, dream, or desire.

So no—I’m not greedy in the way the world fears.
But I am hungry.
Hungry for truth. For healing. For wholeness.
And I refuse to apologize for that anymore.

With Love, Sofy