** This is a very honest confessional-style post. I know I’m not the only woman who has struggled with these things, so I hope something in my story is helpful for you.
I’ve always been what is referred to as a jack-of-all-trades. I’m good at a lot of different things; I’m willing to try a lot of things and I’m good at figuring things out.
I always felt, though, that I was never EXCELLENT at anything. No matter how well I did. No matter how many awards I won. I never felt like I did enough to call myself excellent.
When I say “I can’t …” it’s because I’ve identified myself with that story/thought so I take no action, thereby making it a self-fulfilling prophecy. The “I can’t…” story isn’t really me, and once I separate it from myself I can move it aside and take the action needed.
I’ve sought happiness, validation, praise, etc. from external forces… things and people.
The only problem with that is I can’t control things or people.
SUCK.
No wonder I lived in this constant state of underlying anxiety.
I really hate to admit that, but it’s true. It’s the ugly little troll that lives beneath my self-confident exterior.
It’s the little girl inside me that didn’t get the “right kind of praise” that she had imagined getting when she came home with her awards from school.
That little girl still feels like she’s not good enough – because that’s the story she told herself at that moment. She’s still telling that story.
It’s the awkward adolescent girl inside me that skipped 6th grade and showed up at junior high wanting to fit in and have friends, but instead got picked on for not having Guess jeans and Keds and the “right look”.
That little girl still feels like she’s not pretty enough. She’s been telling herself that story for over 27 years.
It’s the younger woman inside me who felt completely alone when her husband emptied the bank account and left her, pregnant with triplets, after two years of battling infertility.
That woman still feels alone and like everything is her responsibility.
Those are my stories.
Those are also things that happened.
What I know, though, is that the two are not the same. What I mean is, what happened is not the same thing as the story I then made up and told myself (repeatedly) about what happened.
What happened is what happened.
The MEANING I gave to what happened is my story.
And my stories are not serving me.
My story – my stories – wrap shackles around me and make blocks of concrete for my feet to reside in.
They rob me of my possibilities. Of my potential. Of my true self.
When I allow my stories to exist INSIDE of what happened, my world changes. It changes because my story now dictates my outcome.
As long as I believe my story to be THE truth, I will act (or not act) in order to make it so.
When I am able to separate what happened from the story I created about what happened (the meaning I gave it) I am able to regain my power.
I can acknowledge what happened.
I can acknowledge the story I made up and the meaning I created about what happened.
I can see that the two are separate from one another.
So, if my story isn’t the truth and no longer holds space, then what?
I’m looking at a blank page.
A wide open opportunity to create.
Why?
Because I’m starting from nothing. And when I start from there, who I am is the possibility of …
xoxo,
Chantell
What stories are you telling yourself that may be holding you back?
How would your life change if your story had no power over you?
Share your thoughts in the comments below and see how you can separate your story from your SELF.
A wish I have for you is to have total clarity and separation of Self from Story.