Apparently, I Had a Lot More to Say Than I Let On
As a little girl, I was loud, curious, and loved being the center of attention. Somewhere during childhood, that changed. I became shy. Very shy. And I've always thought there's a big difference between being quiet and being shy. Some people genuinely enjoy being quiet. Shy people, though? Sometimes we have entire conversations happening in our heads while barely saying a word.
I missed opportunities because of it. I followed instructions, avoided disagreements, and became pretty good at fitting into any group. Just read the room, adjust my personality, and everyone was happy. Well, almost everyone.
Over the years, a series of unpleasant experiences made me question how much of myself I was giving up to keep other people comfortable. I stopped maintaining friendships out of obligation. Started expressing my opinions, setting boundaries, and choosing people more carefully. I invested in personal development, asked for help when I needed it, and gradually became someone who could communicate without constantly second-guessing herself.
And somewhere in that process, creativity became louder too. I started experimenting, sharing my work, trying unfamiliar things, and becoming increasingly comfortable with being seen. I still make mistakes. Plenty of them. But starting again has never particularly scared me.
These days, the thought of blending into the crowd bothers me far more than the possibility of failing. And that's partly why I'm building Nastova in public.
I want people to see the experiments, the awkward beginnings, and the actual progress. Maybe someone who's been holding back will recognize a little of themselves in my story. If that encourages even one person to finally try something they've been postponing, I'll be pretty happy with that.