Humans have evolved because of the stories we tell.

We can make fire, make a friend and toast marshmallows, trip on the best path to the honey pot and find God in the gaps.

Our lives are run by stories.

The Bible is a story.

The stories we were told about ourselves in our childhood felt like fables.  Words of wisdom.  Written in stone.

We grew up.  The stories told by our partners, regardless of who’s side they were on, continue to define who we are.

It could be our own story taking us down.

I don’t know where I got the idea that “I’m not good enough” but I can trace it back to my early childhood.  I was cute.  I was smart.  So what was missing?

I think my parents were good parents.  They weren’t perfect, but who is?  I was loved.  I was cared for.  I was grounded when necessary.  I wasn’t abused.

I had a few anxiety-filled moments.  But isn’t that life?  We can’t be bubble wrapped 24-7.

But I was always told I was smart… so I believed it.

And beautiful.

Just not quite perfect.  Something happened.  Something was said. And my interpretation of it was “I’m not good enough.”

That is the story I told myself.

And it played out in some major areas.  School.  Relationships.  Choices.  I managed to beat off the doubt in the tech arena because I was a #bosslady.

I am not perfect.

I am pretty sure I am dyslexic.  Never got tested because my IQ was is Mensa level (which means nothing for learning disabilities).  I had the fuggin’ hardest time with left and right until I was 30.  I’d look at which hand I wrote with and say “Right!”

Thankfully, driving helped my spatial understanding, rather than hindered it.

I am pretty good at intuiting direction, but put me in a shopping mall and that goes as haywire as flying instruments in the Bermuda Triangle.

I gained weight after menopause.

I don’t have a perfect body.  Folks… I had a 10-lb baby!

I got cancer.

I told myself I was pretty good until I got sidelined in an abusive relationship.  It was then that I doubted my worth.  I struggled to hold on to reality while shielding a child.

I was still a child.

I crawled.  I climbed.  I fell.  I cried.  I tried.  I failed.

Then I realized that the stories we tell ourselves are THE most important ones.

You know those little angels and devils who sit on your shoulders?  They chirp in your ear 24-7.

“You are the best.”

“You are the worst.”

Change the narrative.  Tell your own story.  DARE to rewrite it with a plot twist.

You are my favourite story.

The Fox