Shedding the Old Stories: Becoming Who You Really Are

We tell ourselves stories every day — about who we are, what we can expect from life, and why we can't expect more. Many of these stories were handed to us when we were very young, passed down through family, culture, and circumstance. We've carried them ever since, sometimes shifting them, sometimes clinging to them, often unaware of how deeply they shape us.

Some of these stories empower us. But many hold us back.

They tell us we’re not enough. That we must fit into certain boxes. That our worth is tied to how well we meet others’ expectations. These stories show up as self-doubt, anxiety, broken relationships, depression, shame.

Our stories start early. A doll handed to a girl, a truck handed to a boy and other quiet cues that tell us who we're “supposed” to be. We’re dressed in pink or blue, given tea sets or dirt bikes, and gradually funneled into narratives of femininity and masculinity that may never truly fit. Later, we’re taught to dream of picket fences, promotions, children, and conformity. We're told what success looks like. We're warned not to dream "too big."

We swallow these messages like bait on a hook:

• Girls are bad at math. Boys shouldn’t cry.
  
  

• Men must provide. Women must sacrifice.
  
  

• If you’re sick, you’re broken forever.
  
  

• Healing is for the weak. Therapy is for crazy people.
  
  

• Your past defines you. Fate is fixed.
  
  

And we try — for years — to fit ourselves into these tiny boxes. We shrink. We contort. We ache. We cut off parts of ourselves trying to fit into the proverbial glass slipper. Until maybe one day, something cracks open.

We begin to question: Why am I doing this? Whose story is this? And why have I spent my life trying to live inside it?

The truth is: we are not our stories. We are not the shame, the trauma, the labels, or the limitations. We are so much more.

Honoring What Got Us Here

Letting go of old stories doesn’t mean forgetting the past. It means honoring the parts of us that clung to these narratives because they helped us survive. Sometimes those stories were armor. Sometimes they were protection.

I’ve been crawling out of my own stories.

Stories born from child abuse, poverty, and perfectionism. Stories written during the chapters of college, careers, marriage, motherhood, loss, grief, survival. Stories that told me I had to play small to be safe. That my worth was in sacrifice. That I had to give everything and expect nothing.

I’ve lived through many versions of myself — protector, provider, supporter, martyr. And I’m learning now to live as me. Yes, I do have lots of moments not knowing what it is that I want.

I'm re-examining my past, not to stay there, but to understand why I’ve made the choices I have. I’m letting go of the hurt, the expectations, the patterns that no longer serve. I’m choosing to connect with me for the first time. I’m choosing something different.

Yes, sometimes I feel unsure. Afraid of doing it “wrong.” But I remind myself — there is no wrong. There is only experience. Growth. Practice.

Practicing a New Story

This new story I’m writing doesn’t come easy. Old habits are hard to break. People get upset when I stop playing the role they’re comfortable with. But their discomfort is not a reason to abandon my truth.

I am practicing. That’s all healing really is — practicing new ways of being.

Practicing the pause and listening to me.                                              Practicing saying yes to myself.
Practicing saying no without guilt.
Practicing feeling worthy for just being.
Practicing trusting myself.

Some days I backslide. That’s okay. It’s part of the process. And practice makes. . . better. But each time, I choose to return to myself. To the truth that I am not small. I am not broken. I am not bound to old stories.

I am the author now.

And you can be too.

If You're Reading This...

If you're here, maybe you're starting to see your old stories too. Maybe you're feeling the tension between who you've been told to be and who you really are.

This is your permission to start listening to you — your desires, your truths, your voice.

This is your reminder that the old stories don’t own you.

You get to write your own.