When the Ceiling Disappeared

A reflection on authority, approval, and learning to trust my own perception.

I woke up this morning thinking about authority.

As a little girl born in the ‘70s and growing up through the ‘80s and ‘90s, authority felt real. Teachers, doctors, pastors, police officers, experts. They all seemed to occupy a place above me. There was an invisible ceiling that I didn’t question. You respected authority. You earned your place beneath it. If you worked hard enough, maybe one day you’d earn the respect of the people above you.

Looking back, I realize that’s how my psyche was mapped.

Then life happened.

As I moved through my thirties, forties, and now into my fifties, that ceiling began to crack. So many people I had placed on pedestals turned out not to be who I thought they were. Somewhere along the way, I had confused authority with wisdom.

The funny thing is, I’ve always challenged authority. My husband laughs because I’ll question almost anything, and he’ll just say, “Shocker.” Looking back, I don’t think I was trying to rebel. I think I was testing it. I wanted to know if it was worthy of my respect.

As I sat with this this morning, I realized something else.

Most of the authority figures I was trying to impress were men.

Bosses. Mentors. Leaders.

And underneath all of that, if I’m being honest, I think I was still trying to earn my father’s approval. (Hello, shadow work.)

It’s funny how the psyche works. We think we’re chasing success, recognition, or respect, when sometimes we’re simply replaying an old story we haven’t yet seen.

The beautiful part is that my father and I found each other again. After nearly twenty years of distance, he now sends me messages telling me how proud he is. It’s something I never expected to receive, and I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t matter.

But I also know that something had already changed in me.

Years ago, while standing in the Himalayas, I made a small ceremonial boat and set it adrift down the Ganges River. In my heart, I was releasing him. I was letting go of the father I thought I’d never have.

Looking back, I think that’s when the ceiling really began to disappear.

The more I studied Jung, depth psychology, phenomenology, and the Gospel of Mary, the more one idea kept returning. Self-authority. Not arrogance. Not believing you know everything. Becoming responsible for your own perception instead of borrowing someone else’s certainty.

Today, I wonder if influence has become our new version of authority. Followers become credibility. Algorithms become reputation. Virality becomes expertise. But why do we want influence in the first place? What are we trying to have authority over? Are we helping people think for themselves, or are we asking them to think more like us?

I don’t think experience should be dismissed. There are people whose knowledge has been earned, and that deserves respect. But I’ve stopped assuming someone is wise simply because they’re standing on a stage, wrote a book, or have a large following.

These days, I’m less interested in authority and more interested in discernment.

Maybe the first half of life teaches us to borrow authority. Maybe the second half teaches us to trust our own ability to see.

I’m not trying to become someone’s authority anymore.

I’m trying to become a better guide.

Maybe the role of a guide isn’t to tell people what to think.

Maybe it’s to help people learn how to navigate themselves.

Because I’m not sure most of us were ever taught.

Maybe that’s what I’ll write about next…