We each tell ourselves a surplus of stories every day. We tell ourselves the story of who we are; the story of where we have come from, what has shaped us and brought us to where we are. The story of where we are going, and why we are going there. The story of what this person over here thinks, what that person over there said, and why they said it. The stories of why we are frustrated, overlooked, tired, sad, unappreciated, limited, stuck.
Our stories color the perceptions that we have, the lens through which we see ourselves, how we see and think about others, how we experience life. Our stories dictate our limitations. Stories of what if; fables that play out in our heads of all the (usually negative) possibilities, of all the “rules”, of all of the reasons why not, of all of the fears.
Unless you’re telling yourself that you’re amazing, beautiful, exceptional and unique, that your very existence is awe-inspiring, that you have so much to give and that you are a damn magical being who can make anything happen, your stories aren’t benefiting you.
Our stories are, at the very root, built up around our fears, or the fears that we have adopted from others. They’re meant to protect us, but they’re cheating us out of living. Most of our stories are built up on a foundation of falsehoods.
Limitations are self-imposed.
Seek out your truth. Tell your own story. And if you don’t like the one that you’re in, or where it is going, start rewriting.
Because you can.
Once you dispel one untruth, your curiosity will likely be piqued, your confidence a bit more steady.
What can you do to prove to yourself that you are capable, regardless of what your stories have told you?
Finding Me in Mom 