What We Knew at Seven: The First Spark of Authority

The Childhood Moment That Still Stands Out

When I was seven, I declared something with complete confidence:

"I am a constellations expert."

There was no hesitation. No comparison. No worry about getting it wrong.

I made flashcards. I memorized the names. I explained the stars to anyone who happened to be within earshot.

And I wasn't pretending. I believed myself.

Walking my dogs recently, I looked up and realized I still remember those constellations. Not because an adult told me I was good at it, but because I was absorbed by it. I didn't ask for permission. I didn't wait for someone to validate my interest. I just knew what I knew.

Something changes as we grow up. We start negotiating with the very instincts that came naturally to us.

Why Children Claim Authority So Easily

Children don't sit around wondering whether they're qualified. They don't check if someone older knows more. They don't worry about perception.

A child claims authority from:

• curiosity

• absorption

• repetition

• delight

Not credentials. Not achievement. Not a résumé.

Children don't confuse certainty with arrogance. They don't shrink themselves to be agreeable. They don't filter their voice through imagined critics.

They simply name what feels true.

That early confidence is a form of embodied authority. Most adults lost touch with it.

Where the Thread Gets Lost

Somewhere along the way—usually quietly, often early—the messages start landing:

Be accurate. Be careful. Be polished. Be agreeable. Wait until you're sure.

And that's the moment many experts start shrinking.
They build expertise, but they avoid authority.

Expertise feels safe.
Authority feels exposed.

Expertise can be measured.
Authority comes from lived experience and interpretation.

Most experts stay in the comfort of mastery because it asks less of them. Authority asks you to be seen.

The Real Difference: Expertise vs Authority

This distinction sits at the heart of so many people's stuckness:

Expertise is a skill.
Authority is a perspective.

Expertise is what you can do.
Authority is what you understand.

Expertise is repeatable.
Authority is original.

Expertise can be taught.
Authority comes from pattern recognition, instinct, and the meaning you've made from your life.

Authority is the moment you stop echoing what you've learned and start articulating what you see.

It's the adult version of pointing at the sky and saying, "I know these stars."

Not from ego. From orientation.

Constellations Are Maps, and So Is Your Perspective

Constellations aren't "real" in the literal sense. They exist because someone once looked up, connected a few points of light, and decided it meant something worth naming.

Your authority works the same way.

You connect:

• experiences

• lessons

• failures

• intuitions

• patterns

And you name them. Not because you invented the material, but because you brought meaning to it.

This is why constellations are the perfect metaphor for authorship. They are chosen connections that help people navigate.

Your frameworks do the same.

Why So Many Coaches Feel "Not Ready" to Write Their Book

Almost every coach who reaches out to me is highly skilled. They have the experience, the results, the stories.

What they don't have is permission.

When they consider writing a book, the fears surface: What if someone disagrees? What if I'm not the expert I think I am? What if I'm exposed?

But here's what becomes clear once they start writing: They aren't discovering authority. They're remembering it.

They're reconnecting with the part of themselves that once believed what they knew without checking if it was allowed.

Authority Isn't Earned Through Approval. It's Claimed Through Clarity.

Writing forces you to articulate what you actually believe. It brings precision. It reveals patterns you've never named. It puts a stake in the ground.

A book becomes the grown-up version of those flashcards. It's evidence of what you've lived and what you see.

It doesn't create authority. It gives it a home.

Coming Home to What You've Always Known

The seven-year-old who pointed at stars and named them was already practicing authority. Not because she was right about everything, but because she trusted what she saw and wasn't afraid to say so.

That same clarity lives in you now—deeper, more nuanced, earned through years of experience. The question isn't whether you're qualified to claim it.

The question is whether you're ready to stop waiting for permission that will never come.

Your constellations are already there. You've been tracing them for years. It's time to name them.