Nobody Is Going to Give You Permission

Originally shared in Tuesday Notes on May 19, 2026.

For about two years before Euda Studio existed, it lived in the back of my mind.

I knew I wanted to write. I knew I wanted to share the things I'd been through, what I was learning in psychology, the things I wished someone had told me earlier. I had a notes app full of ideas and a folder of screenshots I had saved for "when I'm ready."

And I kept telling myself the same thing: I'll start once I finish my degree. Once I actually have the credentials. Once I know enough to be taken seriously.

It sounded reasonable. It sounded like patience. Looking back it was fear. I just didn't want to call it that yet.

Because what I was really doing was protecting myself from a failure I'd already played out vividly in my head. The aunt at Christmas asking how the "blog thing" was going. Some girl from high school, sending it to a group chat making fun. The version of me, six months in, with twelve followers and a quiet feeling that I'd embarrassed myself for nothing (which now that I "only" have 50 followers doesn't feel like the end of the world either).

That loss felt enormous. The gain of maybe one day helping someone felt vague and far away. So I didn't move.

What changed wasn't a sudden burst of confidence. I didn't wake up one morning healed of my self-doubt.

What changed was that I made the bet I was ready to take smaller.

I didn't launch a full brand from the beginning. I first picked the name. Then a few weeks later, I bought a domain. Then the Instagram handle, which sat empty for a while. Then one post, which I almost didn't publish. Each step on its own was so small that if it failed, the loss was basically nothing, I'd have a domain I didn't use and a username nobody followed.

But each step also made the next one feel less terrifying. And that's how Euda Studio got from the back of my mind to your inbox.

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Tuesday Brain Snack

There's a name for what was stopping me, and you've probably felt it too.

It's called loss aversion, and Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky spent decades proving it shapes almost every decision we make. The finding that stuck with me the most: losses feel about twice as powerful as equivalent gains. So losing 50.- francs hurts roughly twice as much as finding 50.- francs feels good.

Which means when your brain is weighing should I do the thing or not, it isn't running a fair calculation. It's pressing down a thumb on the scale, every time, on the side of don't.

This is why you can want something deeply and still not do it. It's not weakness, it's not laziness, it's not a discipline problem you can fix with a 5 am routine. It's our brain doing exactly what it evolved to do, which is keep you safe by overweighting potential loss. This is extremely useful when the loss is a predator. However, less useful when the loss is somebody from high school might see this and think I've changed.

Loss aversion gets stronger the bigger the bet feels. Quit my job to write triggers full alarm. Reach out to him/her after two years of silence triggers full alarm. Show up to the thing alone triggers full alarm.

But here's the part nobody tells you: your brain doesn't measure the actual size of the loss. It measures the imagined size of the loss. Which means you can change the math by changing the bet.

The Tool: Shrink the Bet Until the Loss Feels Survivable

This week, pick one thing you've been wanting to do and haven't.

Now ask yourself: what's the smallest version of this I could do, where, if it goes badly, almost nothing is actually lost?

Not the thing itself. The thing before the thing. The thing before that.

Some unusual examples, from real situations:

Move to a new city becomes spend a weekend there pretending you already live there. Get a matcha somewhere local, sit on a bench, watch how it feels in your body.

Start therapy becomes open your local directory and bookmark three names. Don't email them. Just see who exists.

Leave the relationship that's been wrong for a year becomes write down the conversation in your notes app. Not to send. Just to find out what you would actually say if you weren't scared.

Change careers becomes spend one afternoon talking to someone who already does the thing. Coffee, not a meeting. No agenda. Just listen to how they describe their day and listen to how that feels to yourself.

Make new friends as an adult becomes say one sentence to one person at the place you already regularly go to. The yoga studio. The coffee shop. Not a friendship. Just one sentence.

The point isn't to trick yourself into doing the big thing. It's to lower the imagined loss below the threshold where your brain still refuses to act. And then to let the next small step show up on its own, because it always does.

Sit on the bench turns into look at apartments. Bookmark three names turns into send one e-mail. The brain that was screaming no gets quieter once it sees you didn't die.

Loss aversion doesn't disappear once you start. It just stops running the show. And the smaller you can make the first move, the less power it has to keep you frozen.

What's the thing you keep not doing? And what is the smallest version of it you could try this week?

Until next Tuesday, much love,

Claudia