Slingshot Weekly (11/19/25) | The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Every person carries a story not just about what’s happened to them, but about who they believe they are. These stories follow us quietly, shaping how we think, how we try, and how willing we are to step into something bigger. Some stories become anchors. Others become cages. The hard truth is this: most of the stories that hold us back didn’t come from facts. They came from moments. Small ones. Quiet ones. Moments that made us question our worth or shrink our voice.

Moments that taught us to say things like:

• “I always mess things up.”
• “I’m just not that type of person.”
• “I missed my chance.”

Lines repeated so many times that they stopped sounding like doubt and started sounding like identity.

These stories were written by earlier versions of you. Versions that were trying, learning, surviving, and doing the best they could with what they had. They aren’t wrong. But they aren’t the whole story, either. And they don’t have to be the story you keep telling. What if you looked at your life the way an author looks at a draft? Not as something broken, but as something evolving. Something being shaped. Something finding its way sentence by sentence.

Your words, even the ones you whisper when no one can hear, are powerful. Neuroscience even shows that repeated thoughts form pathways in the brain. Meaning the story you speak becomes the story you live. Change the story, and you begin to change the direction. Even nature reflects this truth. A caterpillar isn’t “failing” when it enters a cocoon. It’s rewriting. Rebuilding. Re-becoming.

Every version of you - past, present, and future - plays a part in your story. The younger version of you did the best they could. The current version of you sees things more clearly. And the next version of you? They’re waiting for you to stop narrating your limits and start narrating your strength.

You’ve already survived things that earlier chapters weren’t sure you’d make it through. You’ve already proven your courage in small moments you forget to claim as wins. The next chapter isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering the part of you that existed before the doubt. Before the comparisons. Before the limiting lines you’ve rehearsed for too long.

You get to choose a new story. One that fits who you are now, not who you used to be.

Your story is still being written. Pick up the pen again.