My three-year-old niece noticed my wedding band one afternoon and immediately decided she wanted a ring of her own.

She gently traced her tiny finger along the grooves of mine.

“What kind of ring do you want?” I asked.

She didn’t hesitate.

“A shiny puh-ple ring.”

And she didn’t just say it once—she said it at least five times that day. So clear. So certain. So unabashedly connected to what she wanted. No wondering whether purple was the “right” choice. No concern about what anyone else might think.

She simply knew.

The next day we went miniature golfing. At the end of the course, she won a prize.

There were two rings to choose from. One looked much like my wedding band. It was smaller, more practical, and fit her finger perfectly.

The other was enormous.

Bright purple.

Far too big for her tiny hand.

Without even considering the first option, she reached for the giant purple ring she’d been imagining all along. She spent the rest of the afternoon squeezing her middle and ring fingers together just to keep it from sliding off.

Watching her, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, many of us begin trading our inner knowing for approval. We learn to question ourselves. To choose what makes sense instead of what feels true. To wonder whether our desires are too much, too impractical, or too different.

But children haven’t learned that yet.

They trust what resonates without even knowing it’ll work out…because they haven’t forgotten how to listen to themselves.

I wonder how much healing begins there.

Where we remember the version of ourselves that knew what she loved before the world taught her to explain it.

Maybe that little voice is still there.

Patiently waiting.

Still whispering.