The ordeal of being true to your own inner way must stand high in the list of ordeals. It is like being in the power of someone you cannot reach, know, or move, but who never lets you go; who both insists that you accept yourself and who seems to know who you are.
It is awful to have to be yourself.
If you do reach this stage of life you are to some extent free from your fellows. But the travail of it. Precious beyond valuing as the individual is, his fate is feared and avoided. Many do have to endure a minute degree of uniqueness, just enough to make them slightly immune from the infection of the crowd, but natural people avoid it. They obey for comfort’s sake the instinct warns, “Say yes, don’t differ, it’s not safe”. It is not easy to be sure that being yourself is worth the trouble, but we do know it is our sacred duty.
One of many gems from Florida Scott-Matthews The Measure of My Days published when she was 85 years old.