I didn't eat cheese until I was 25.

I need to tell you something, and I need you not to judge me.

I am, and have always been, an incredibly fussy eater.

Not in a cute, quirky, "oh I'm not really a salad person" way (although, it's true, I am not really a salad person). But in more of a turning-up-to-a-friend's-house-for-dinner-with-my-own-potato-waffles-in-a-tupperware way.

Yes. That happened. I was about 8.

My mum knew I wouldn't eat whatever was on offer, so she literally sent me with backup.

And, of course, she was right. I absolutely did not want their spaghetti bolognese.

Imagine being my mum, though, having to explain this to another parent on the phone beforehand.

"She's a lovely girl, but she just won't eat your food. No, not any of it. Yes, I know it's just pasta. She's bringing waffles."

It wasn't brattiness. It was sensory.

Textures, temperatures, the way certain foods felt in my mouth. I was hyper-sensitive to all of it in a way I couldn't explain at the time (ummm, did someone say undiagnosed neurodivergence?).

Here's a quick rundown of my fussy eating creds:

• I didn't try gravy until I was 11.

• I didn't eat cheese until my mid-twenties.

• I pretty much lived off of smiley faces and super noodles at uni.

• I prefer my chips without salt, and won't eat them with vinegar.

• I don't do sandwiches.

• I reliably heave after a few spoonfuls of porridge.

• And I have never and will never understand the fuss about pizza. I'm sorry but there are so many better meals.

Growing up, my happy place was beige.

Fish fingers. Potato waffles. Baked beans. The holy trinity of children who know what they want (zero vegetables) and will not be moved.

I also refused to drink water because - and I appreciate how this sounds - it didn't have enough flavour. In other words, not enough dopamine. So it was always squash (or diluting juice for my Scottish contingent).

If you're neurodivergent, you're probably nodding. If you're not, you probably think I'm weird. Fairs.

But somewhere in my twenties, something changed.

There wasn't a specific moment. No one forced me. I wasn't shamed into changing or sat down for a stern chat about nutritional variety.

I just got a bit curious.

I tried real oranges (not the squash form). Delicious.

I tried sushi. Quite nice, actually.

Gravy? Now a staple.

Cheese? I'd happily have parmesan and burrata with every meal now.

The list of things I'd written off for decades started shrinking, but slowly, on my own terms, and in my own time.

And when I look back at what actually changed, it wasn't that the food got better or became more appealing.

It's that I felt safe and comfortable enough to try.

No one was standing over me. No one was making it a thing. There was no pressure or deadline.

I just became ready. And when I was ready, the openness came naturally.

We can be pretty bad at letting people change at their own pace.

We often pressure people to make decisions before they're ready.

"You should be over that by now."

"When are you going to make a move?"

"What's your five-year plan?"

And when someone isn't ready - when they're still in the potato waffles phase, still figuring it out, still circling the thing but not quite reaching for it - we get impatient.

We push. We problem-solve. We send articles. We stage interventions over brunch.

But it rarely ever works.

You can't rush someone into readiness. You can't logic them into it. You can't make a compelling PowerPoint presentation about why they should eat the cheese already.

People change when they feel safe enough to get curious. That's it.

When the conditions are right - when there's enough safety, enough space, enough permission to try without it being a referendum on their entire identity - curiosity often shows up on its own.

Looking back, every meaningful change I've made in my life has followed this pattern.

Leaving a career that didn't fit.
Ending a 12-year relationship.
Walking away from my own business.

None of these happened because someone told me to. They happened because I'd finally created enough space to hear what I already knew. The readiness was always coming. It just needed room.

This is something I hold onto in my coaching work.

My job isn't to tell someone what to do or rush them toward an answer.

It's to create the conditions where they feel safe enough to get curious about their own life or work. To try the thing they've been circling. To reach for the cheese.

Sometimes that happens fast.

Sometimes it takes months.

Sometimes someone walks into a session convinced they have no idea what they want - and then they say something in passing that tells me they've known all along. They just needed someone to sit with them while they caught up with themselves.

You can't force it. You can't schedule it. But you can make space for it.

What's the thing in your life that you're circling but not quite ready to reach for?

And are you giving yourself permission to take your time with it, or are you beating yourself up for not being there yet?