You know not everything needs to be productive, right?

WHY THIS MATTERS

So here’s the thing—at some point, I realised I had no idea what I actually liked.

Not what I’m good at. Not what people expect me to be into. Not what makes me money or fits the version of me I’ve marketed online. But genuinely, purely, what brings me pleasure. What makes me feel like me. What I would choose if no one was watching, and there was no pressure to turn it into a side hustle or self-improvement arc.

And that’s wild, right? Because I’m someone who runs businesses, makes content, sings in a band—I’ve built whole-ass brands off my taste. But somewhere along the way, I lost the thread. It’s like I zoomed out and thought: wait, do I like this or is this just familiar?

That moment kicked off a bit of a spiral. The good kind. The kind that starts with a voice note to yourself and ends with you sitting in bed at 1am whispering, “Oh my god… I do like passionfruit… I just hate the texture.”

So this episode is about that. About learning your favourites again. About choosing things just because they feel good. About separating your joy from productivity. Because not everything you do has to make sense to other people. Not everything has to have a purpose.

Not everything has to be productive, babe.

Let’s get into it.

⸻

PART 1: HOW I REALISED I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I LIKED

It started like most of my self-awareness spirals do—with a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.

I was doing shadow work, just minding my own business, probably procrastinating something important, and this question popped into my head: “What’s your favourite thing to wear?” And I froze. Because I didn’t know. I knew what looked good. I knew what got compliments. I knew what fit the vibe I’d curated. But did I like it?

That one question turned into fifty. I made a voice note and started listing out every “What’s your favourite…” I could think of. Not from a branding perspective. Not for aesthetics. Just… me. Like, do I actually like espresso martinis, or do I just associate them with nights I felt confident? Do I like maximalism because I like it, or because I grew up around scarcity and now I need everything everywhere just in case?

It messed me up a little. In a good way.

Because what I realised is that so many of my “likes” were shaped by trauma. By masking. By needing to belong. By needing to be palatable. I lost track of what I enjoyed without performing it.

I’ve always been a chameleon—an autistic people-pleasing perfectionist who can read a room and shift into the safest version of myself. That skill kept me safe for a long time. But it also meant I never really let myself exist outside of being useful. If I wasn’t producing or performing, I didn’t know who I was.

So learning what I actually liked? Felt radical. Felt rebellious. Felt… like freedom.

And it wasn’t just deep stuff. It was little things. Like: I love white clothes even though I don’t wear them often. I love lo-fi when I’m alone. I love that my freckles and tattoos pop against white. I love mac and cheese when I need comfort. I love sleeping horizontally with nothing to do. I love massages that make me feel like a bread loaf being kneaded back to life.

Every answer was like reclaiming a piece of myself I didn’t know I’d given away.

FAVOURITE THINGS THAT SURPRISED ME

Some of the answers that came out of that voice note surprised me. Not because they were shocking or wild—but because they were so specific. So me. Not brand-me. Not curated-me. Just… me-me.

Like I said earlier, I love wearing white. That might sound basic, but if you know me, you know I live in black. White stains. White requires effort. And I’m not careful. But I love how I look in white. It makes my freckles stand out. My tattoos pop. I feel clean and bright and like a fancy marshmallow. That’s not a vibe I’ve ever claimed publicly, but privately? Obsessed.

Another surprise? My favourite scent. Not perfume (although shout out to Born in Roma Intense by Valentino—it smells like a rich woman with complicated feelings). But the scent I love most? Freshly baked cookies. That soft, buttery vanilla warmth. It reminds me of safety. Of softness. Of slowing down.

And then there’s food. Mac and cheese. Raspberries. Crème pâtissière strawberry tarts. But also: I love passionfruit. I just hate the texture. That one made me laugh. Because I’ve spent my life saying I don’t like passionfruit—when actually, I just don’t like the way it shows up. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

Same with fruit juice versus fruit. I’ll happily drink something passionfruit-flavoured. But hand me an actual passionfruit? No thanks. And that made me realise how many preferences I’ve written off because of one bad experience. How often I’ve confused discomfort with dislike. Or masked discomfort as dislike to avoid being annoying or high-maintenance.

Also: my favourite way to exist is horizontal. No shame. No grindset. Just lying down, music on, waves in the background, existing. That’s something I would’ve mocked myself for ten years ago. But now? I think that’s sacred. I think that’s survival.

Another surprise: how much I love visual maximalism when it’s done well. I love big plants in big rooms with geometric furniture. It’s like a jungle moved into an architect’s Pinterest board. It makes me feel alive and grounded and stimulated but not overwhelmed. Which is hard to come by when you’ve got a sensory system that’s constantly throwing tantrums.

I could go on. Singing bowls. Neon lighting. Deep tissue massages. Feeling unobserved. Floating in the ocean. I didn’t know I needed to name those things, but now that I have, I can’t stop.

And the wildest part? Once I named them, I wanted more of them. I started craving my own life. Not a version of life that looked good on Instagram. Just… my life. The one where I light candles and wear mesh and drink Americanos with vanilla syrup and lie down for hours doing nothing.

That version of me? She’s not aspirational. She’s real. And she’s finally allowed to want things just because they feel good.

WHY THIS IS ACTUALLY A SELF-TRUST PRACTICE

Here’s what I didn’t expect: learning my favourite things helped me build self-trust.

Not in a cheesy “love yourself first” Pinterest way. I mean in a concrete, embodied, trauma-informed way. Like: every time I answered a “what’s your favourite” question, I was practicing believing myself. Listening to myself. Not second-guessing. Not outsourcing the answer to the group chat. Just saying “I like this” and letting that be enough.

That is not something that came naturally to me.

I’m someone who crowdsourced my sense of self for most of my life. I learned early on that being agreeable was safer than being honest. That being liked was more rewarding than being authentic. That if I wanted to be safe, I had to be easy. Predictable. Palatable.

So I got good at shrinking. I got good at adapting. I got good at ignoring my preferences if they made me inconvenient.

And this favourite-things exercise? It dragged all of that into the light. Gently, but firmly. Because every question asked me to pause and notice what my body was saying. What I was saying. And then to honour it.

Even when the answer was inconvenient. Like: I actually don’t like being around people all the time. I don’t like loud restaurants. I don’t like being perceived when I’m not ready. I don’t like soft hugs. I don’t like group holidays. I want to like these things. I used to pretend I did. But I don’t.

And saying that out loud felt like reclaiming my voice from every time I said “I’m fine” when I wasn’t. From every time I smiled and said “whatever you want” when I had a clear opinion. From every time I said yes because no felt dangerous.

This is where the healing comes in.

Because underneath a lot of our confusion about what we like… is fear. Fear of being different. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being hard to love. And it’s valid. That fear came from somewhere. Most of us were shamed or punished or abandoned for our preferences at some point. We internalised the lesson: don’t rock the boat. Don’t need too much. Don’t want too much. Don’t be too much.

But the truth is: knowing what you like is a form of safety. It’s how you build a life that fits you. Not your trauma response. Not your old roles. You.

And building that life starts with tiny, seemingly ridiculous questions. Like: do I prefer fruit juice or fruit? Do I like waking up early or staying in bed? Do I like the beach or the mountains? These aren’t shallow questions. They’re invitations to return to yourself. To remember yourself.

This practice doesn’t require a therapist. It doesn’t require a 12-step plan. It just requires curiosity. And a little softness. And the willingness to disappoint people who benefitted from your confusion.

So yeah. Figuring out your favourites isn’t self-indulgent.

It’s self-trust in action.

PLEASURE THAT DOESN’T NEED TO PRODUCE ANYTHING

So let’s talk about pleasure. Not the capital-P kind that’s supposed to be spicy and empowering and Instagrammable. I mean the small, weird, personal kind. The kind that has no point. The kind that’s only for you.

This part is hard when you’ve been taught to perform. When everything becomes a post. A product. A persona.

I noticed that even my hobbies had an agenda. I didn’t paint unless I thought it would turn out “good.” I didn’t write unless it could become a caption or a blog. I didn’t rest unless I was recovering from burnout—like I had to earn the right to stop.

But pleasure that doesn’t produce anything? That’s revolutionary.

It’s putting on a stupid playlist and dancing around badly.

It’s making mac and cheese at 2am because you can.

It’s choosing to wear mesh shirt and silk pants and chains and nothing that “makes sense.”

It’s letting yourself lie down in the middle of the day without guilt.

And it’s powerful. Because every time I do something just because I like it, I tell my nervous system: “We’re safe now.”

I remind my brain: “We don’t live in survival anymore.”

I don’t need to justify my joy. I don’t need to monetize my interests.

I don’t need to explain why I like a thing. I just… do.

There’s something really healing about choosing softness on purpose.

Choosing delight. Choosing desire.

And look, capitalism hates this. Hustle culture hates this.

Your trauma probably hates this. That part of you that learned to associate stillness with failure? That part will scream. It’ll tell you to get back to work. To do something useful. To make it make sense.

Ignore it. That voice isn’t the authority anymore.

What’s actually useful is feeling like a person again.

What’s useful is building a life that doesn’t burn you alive.

What’s useful is making pleasure part of your everyday—not some rare reward you have to earn.

So yeah. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure?

That’s resistance. That’s repair. That’s the whole point.

And you don’t need to do it “right.” There is no right.

There’s just… what makes you feel alive.

TAKEAWAYS + JOURNALING PROMPTS

If you take one thing from this episode, let it be this:

Not knowing what you like doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’ve spent a long time surviving. And now, you get to start choosing.

This isn’t about curating a new identity.

It’s not about building a perfect morning routine or becoming a Pinterest board version of yourself.

It’s about giving yourself permission to exist without performing.

To enjoy something without having to earn it.

To pick favourites without a focus group.

So here are your journal prompts—or voice note prompts, or shower thoughts, or however you best reflect:

1. What’s one thing you secretly love that feels “off brand” for you?

2. What’s a food you always say you don’t like—but maybe it’s just the texture?

3. What do you actually want to do when no one needs anything from you?

4. What version of you feels most like you?

5. When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good?

And if you’re ready to go deeper, go back to those 50 “What’s your favourite…” questions. You can download them on my website here: www.thisisluxcbd.com/shop/

Answer them slowly. Honestly.

Don’t worry about being consistent or clever or aesthetically pleasing.

Just notice what lights up in you.

Because here’s the truth: your preferences are portals.

They lead you back to yourself. To your softness. To your joy.

To your yes. To your no. To your autonomy.

And to your actual, lived life—not the one you’ve been surviving.

And if your answers change over time? Good.

That means you’re growing.

Let them.

I want to end this episode with one of my favourite quotes I come back to again and again:

“If you don’t heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you.”

This episode wasn’t about bleeding. It was about stitching.

About tending to yourself gently. About learning the shape of your joy without shame.

Because joy isn’t selfish.

Wanting things isn’t indulgent.

Knowing yourself deeply doesn’t make you hard to love—it makes you honest.

And honesty is where real intimacy begins.

So this is your reminder:

Not everything has to be productive, babe.

Some things can just feel good. That’s enough.

Okay, love you, bye.