The Stories We Tell Ourselves Become the Lives We Live

I caught myself doing something recently. I said something about myself as if I were reporting a fact.

You know the kind of statement: “I'm just someone who…” And I stopped. Wait. Am I? Or have I just said that about myself so many times that I've stopped questioning it?

Because I think we do this constantly. I'm anxious. I'm terrible with money. I'm bad at relationships. I'm a procrastinator. I'm not disciplined. I'm too sensitive. I'm terrible at confrontation. I always overthink. I don't trust people. I'm just not confident. We say these things casually. But listen to the language. We aren't saying: “This is something I sometimes do.” We're saying: “This is who I am.”

And that is an entirely different thing.

We Become Loyal to Our Own Stories

Here's the part I've been thinking about: Once we decide who we are, we tend to keep proving ourselves right. If you've decided you're a procrastinator, every time you wait until the last minute your brain gets to say: See? That's me. If you've decided you're terrible with money, every questionable purchase becomes evidence. If you've decided people always disappoint you, guess which moments you're going to notice most? The disappointing ones. And here's where it gets really interesting. What happens when evidence shows up that doesn't match your story? We often dismiss it. Someone treats us beautifully. “Yeah, but wait until they really know me.” We make a great decision.

“I just got lucky.” We handle something calmly. “Well, normally I wouldn't.” We accomplish something difficult. “It really wasn't that big of a deal.” Isn't that fascinating? We'll collect evidence supporting an old negative story like we're preparing a case for trial... and cross-examine anything that suggests we might be wrong.

What If You're Working Hard to Stay Consistent With a Version of You That Doesn't Exist Anymore?

This is the question I really want you to consider. Because sometimes we're trying to change our lives while simultaneously protecting an old identity. We want confidence... while continuing to say, “I'm not a confident person.” We want a healthy relationship... while continuing to say, “I'm terrible at relationships.” We want peace... while continuing to introduce ourselves to ourselves as anxious.

We want abundance... while repeating, “I've always been bad with money.” We want to trust ourselves...

while asking everyone else what they think before we make a decision. Then we wonder why change feels so difficult. Maybe you're trying to create a new life while continuously handing yourself instructions for the old one.

“But Leigh, It IS True”

I can already hear this. “But I AM anxious.” “But I really AM terrible with money.” “I've procrastinated my whole life.” Okay. I'm not asking you to lie to yourself. I'm not asking you to stand in front of the mirror tomorrow morning and announce: “I AM A FEARLESS MONEY-GENERATING PRODUCTIVITY MACHINE!” Your subconscious may politely respond: Ma'am. Please sit down. 😂 That's not what I'm talking about. I'm asking you to stop confusing evidence from your past with instructions for your future. Maybe you have struggled with anxiety. Maybe you have made lousy financial decisions.

Maybe you've chosen relationships that weren't healthy. Maybe you've procrastinated for thirty years.

Those experiences are real. But here's the question: Why do they get to decide what happens next?

Your Past Is Evidence. It Isn't a Sentence.

This is where language matters. Instead of: “I'm anxious.” Try: “I've practiced worrying, and I'm learning how to feel safer in uncertainty.” Instead of: “I'm terrible with money.” Try: “I haven't always managed money the way I want to. I'm changing that.” Instead of: “I'm bad at relationships.” Try:

“I've chosen relationships from an older version of me. I'm learning what healthy connection looks like now.” Instead of: “I'm a procrastinator.” Try: “I've practiced waiting until I feel ready. I'm practicing beginning sooner.” Feel the difference? We're not pretending the past didn't happen. We're simply refusing to make it permanent.

Maybe You're Not Discovering Who You Are

Here's another idea I've been playing with. We're always told to “find ourselves.” What if that's not quite it? What if part of becoming who you want to be is deciding which versions of yourself you're no longer willing to keep rehearsing? Because you are practicing an identity all day long.

Every time you say: “That's just how I am.” Every time you assume how you'll respond. Every time you predict what you'll do. Every time you tell someone else the same old story about yourself.

Every time you think: “I could never do that.” You're rehearsing. And eventually rehearsal starts to feel like personality. But familiar doesn't necessarily mean true. Sometimes it just means practiced.

Try This Instead

For the next few days, listen for four phrases:

“I'm just…”

“I always…”

“I never…”

“That's just how I am…”

When you catch one, don't immediately replace it with a positive affirmation. Just get curious. Ask: Is that actually true? Then: Is it always true? And finally:Who might I be if I stopped rehearsing that story? That last question is the one. Because perhaps you've been waiting for evidence that you're different before allowing yourself to believe you're different. But remember what we've been talking about lately: Sometimes the evidence comes after the practice. You practice the boundary before you feel like someone who has strong boundaries. You make the decision before you completely trust yourself. You speak up before you feel confident. You begin before you feel ready. You notice what's going right before optimism feels natural. And slowly... you accumulate new evidence.

Give Your Brain Something New to Prove

Instead of asking: “What's wrong with me?” Ask: “What have I practiced?” And instead of asking: “Who am I?” Maybe occasionally ask: “Who am I practicing being?” Now we're somewhere interesting. Because that question puts you back in the driver's seat. Not controlling everything that happens.

Not pretending circumstances don't matter. But recognizing that you have some say in the meaning you give those circumstances and the version of yourself you bring into them. Maybe the story becomes: I'm learning to trust myself. I'm someone who can handle uncomfortable conversations.

I'm getting better at allowing good things without immediately looking for the catch. I'm learning that someone else's disappointment doesn't automatically mean I've done something wrong.

I'm becoming someone who follows through. I'm practicing looking for what could go right, too.

Those aren't declarations of perfection. They're directions. And direction matters.

So Let Me Ask You Something

What story about yourself have you been telling for so long that you don't even remember deciding it was true? Maybe someone else gave it to you. Maybe something happened when you were young.

Maybe one relationship reinforced it. Maybe you failed at something. Maybe you've simply repeated it for twenty years. Whatever its origin, you get to question it. Because the stories we tell ourselves don't just describe our lives. They can quietly shape the choices we make inside them. And sometimes the next chapter doesn't require fixing yourself. It requires realizing: I'm allowed to stop telling this story.

Showing Up Fully

This is exactly the kind of work behind Showing Up Fully. Not creating some shiny, perfect new version of yourself. Not pretending your past didn't happen. And not convincing yourself everything is wonderful when it isn't. It's recognizing the patterns, beliefs and identities you've practiced so often that they've begun running automatically, and deciding which ones still belong in the life you're creating. Because maybe you don't need a whole new story. Maybe you just need to stop rereading the old one.

So here's your question:

What is one sentence you've been saying about yourself for years...

that you're finally willing to put a question mark after?

Ready to Practice a New Story?

If you’re recognizing that some of the thoughts, patterns, and stories you’ve been living from no longer fit who you’re becoming, Showing Up Fully was created for this work. It’s a 12-week journey designed to help you notice what’s been running automatically, interrupt the patterns that keep pulling you backward, and intentionally practice a different way of thinking, responding, trusting, and showing up in your life. You don’t have to wait until you feel completely ready. You can start showing up differently now. Learn more about Showing Up Fully →