Inhibited

Inhibited is the continuation of the first-edition drawing Reading the Ocean.This frame alone holds so many angles, layers, and meanings that I can hardly unravel them in order — but I will try. These are my reflections on this artwork between October and November 2025.

Lately, I’ve been living inhibited.

To be inhibited is to feel restrained, self-conscious, unable to act or express yourself freely. It’s when the voices in your head — doubt, hesitation, fear — freeze you before you can move. Before you dare to try something new. So you miss out on experiences that could have shaped you. Even when you take the first step, the voices return, louder:

“You’re wrong.”

“If you fail, it’s your fault.”

“You’re in danger.”

For me, inhibition feels like being in the ocean on a bad day.There are days I don’t catch a single wave — not because the sea is unkind, but because I’m nervous, self-conscious, afraid. Then I turn against myself. I imagine everyone around me sees it, judges it — thinks I should be better by now, stronger, braver.

Inhibited is the fear of failure. The fear of vulnerability. The fear of getting it wrong and having to try again. It is darkness screaming when it senses light approaching — its last attempt to keep you where you are.

I’ve noticed that these “eyes” and “voices” appear at key moments. They stay silent when we’re comfortable, but the moment we dare to step into discomfort, they become deafening.

My reflection today: The eyes that judge me are my own. No one else is whispering those words — I am the one giving them life, handing them a script, and letting them speak through others. It’s me against me.

We’ve learned from society that trying something new is “cringe,” that being vulnerable or visibly imperfect deserves mockery. But that’s the real cancel culture — the one we internalise long before anyone else says anything.

It’s okay to be inhibited. It’s human. It’s a stage, not an identity.

Because the mind can be your greatest ally or your most ruthless critic.Recently, I went through something that proved exactly that. The thoughts, the judgement, the regret — they swallowed me whole. I didn’t know I could be taken that far into darkness. The paralysis, the anxiety, the sudden loss of self felt absolute. And then, a single conversation with a friend shifted everything. Just a few words redirected my mind — and somehow that was enough.

This art piece is intentionally inconclusive. It represents a moment — an hour, a day, a week — when the eyes return and you must decide what to do with them. They’ll come back in other forms, in other seasons, but your relationship with them will evolve.

I’m not trying to be motivational.The eyes will always exist — if not inside you, then outside.

So go ahead.

Try.

Fail.

And then try again.