Free will is not a clean yes or no.

It never has been.

At first glance, the idea of free will feels obvious. We choose, decide, and act every day. Most of us make dozens, if not hundreds, of decisions daily. Some are small and automatic, while others quietly or loudly shape the direction of our lives. But when we look more closely through neuroscience and psychology, the picture becomes far more complex.

At the biological level, research challenges the idea that conscious choice comes first. Neuroscientist Benjamin Libet demonstrated that the brain initiates action milliseconds before we become consciously aware of deciding. By the time you feel like you chose, the motor command is already in motion.

Add to this what we already know. Genetics influence temperament and impulse control. Early attachment and trauma shape how the nervous system responds to stress. Conditioning reinforces habits and beliefs. Physical health factors such as sleep, nutrition, hormones, and chronic stress directly affect decision making. Anxiety alone can dramatically narrow perception and increase urgency.

From this view, free will can seem like a myth, a story we tell ourselves after biology has already spoken.

And yet, healing happens.

People interrupt old patterns. They recover from trauma. They leave harmful situations. They change how they live and lead. If free will were entirely an illusion, meaningful change would be impossible.

The truth seems to live somewhere in the middle.

Humans are not blank slates. None of us choose our starting conditions. But we are not powerless either. We possess a capacity, limited and fragile, to pause, reflect, and choose differently over time. Philosopher Immanuel Kant captured this distinction well when he suggested that freedom is not the absence of influence, but the ability to step back from it.

Free will is not about eliminating influence. It is about recognizing how something or someone may be shifting your thoughts, beliefs, and actions away from what you truly value, and deciding how much power it gets. A simple example is people pleasing. The impulse to secure approval can feel automatic, but awareness creates a moment of choice.

As I grow older, I notice that my relationship with choice has changed. I tolerate disappointment more easily because I have learned that time moves on and new paths emerge. I no longer make safe decisions solely to prevent discomfort. What once felt like failure now feels more like redirection.

I am also far less rigid in how I define myself. For much of life, identity feels like something that must be pinned down. When people ask what you do, it can sound like who you are. For years I felt pressure to answer that question with clarity and confidence. Now I pause, not because I am unsure, but because I no longer experience myself as one fixed thing.

When identity softens, choice widens.

Flexibility creates space for more authentic decisions. Authentic does not always mean dramatic or exciting. Often it is quieter than that. It is the decision that aligns rather than impresses.

This leads to a deeper question. Is free will something we have, or something we practice?

In lived experience, free will expands with awareness and contracts under fear. It is weakest under threat, scarcity, and shame. Fear narrows choice. Calm widens it. When the nervous system is dysregulated, decisions are often reactive and driven by urgency or ego. They are made to secure safety, approval, or relief rather than alignment.

This question of influence and autonomy is what led me into the world of speculative fiction. In my novel and screenplay, The Frequency Divide, a powerful biotech conglomerate discovers how to manipulate human emotion through resonance frequencies and begins reshaping society by weaponizing fear while selling engineered calm as salvation. At its core, the story explores what happens when external forces quietly tune human perception. If someone could influence your emotional state without your awareness, how would you know what was truly yours?

That creative exploration pulled me deeper into examining free will in real life. The question stopped being abstract and became personal. How often are our choices shaped by unseen pressures, cultural conditioning, or subtle emotional manipulation? And how often do we pause long enough to notice?

What I am learning is that authentic choice feels different in the body.

It arises from a grounded, settled state. The breath slows. The internal noise softens. There is less urgency and more clarity. These decisions are not always easy, but they feel steady. Even when they involve risk, they do not feel frantic.

Freedom, then, may not be an absolute condition but a capacity that depends on environment. Free will strengthens in spaces that reduce fear and increase psychological safety. When fear decreases, reflection returns. When calm is present, values re enter the conversation.

Perhaps the most honest way to explore free will is through reflection. What choices in your life felt forced or panicked? Which felt grounded and steady? When did you act from fear, and when did you act from clarity?

Free will may not begin in the mind at all, but in the first moment the body feels safe enough to choose.

Recently, I experienced this in a small but meaningful way. Submitting my first screenplay to film festivals felt vulnerable. My nervous system reacted to the possibility of rejection. Then I remembered something I have learned over time. I can tolerate disappointment. I can handle redirection. As my body settled, the decision no longer felt reactive. It felt aligned. Over the past few months, The Frequency Divide has placed as a finalist and semi finalist and was awarded Best Unproduced Script at the Vancouver Women Film Festival.

The outcome matters, but not as much as the moment of choice did.

That moment was free.