Rewriting My Story: From Chronic Victim to Courageous, Passionate Woman
I had this story about my life. It was a good one. Until it stopped working.
I had this story of this girl: a girl that was abused by her father as a child and as a teen; a girl that was not loved by her mother; a girl that was just a foreigner in the big USA, an innocent little one; a girl with disadvantages and no money; a girl whose visa expired so she had to leave; a girl that was trying to do good in the world through low-paying jobs as a researcher and educator; a girl that had her running dream broken, her passion taken by chronic hip pains; a girl whose boyfriend was far away (and, oh boy, was that long distance tough); a girl with an eating disorder and depression; a girl—the worst of all—with non-stop chronic headaches…
This girl was a fighter, and yet, she was a victim. She had her reasons. She had her story.
For a while, the story worked. People helped. People cared. People occasionally listened, sometimes threw in money, and, at times, simply tolerated her.
After a while, the story didn’t work as well. People listened less. People cared less, got frustrated.
One day, the story stopped working completely—because the girl stopped believing in it.
I suppose it was more of a gradual process building up to the big recognition, but suddenly, I knew: it was just a story. More importantly, I knew that I was not my story.
I was the writer of that sad old tale. And I knew, because I’d written the tragedy, I could write something better.
At first, I wanted to erase all the old chapters. I wanted to tear out the sheets and burn them. But I didn’t. These chapters got me to where I was. I let them live.
So, instead, I grabbed a new pen. I jumped out of victim mode. I switched gears, got into the driver seat of my life, and began a fresh, new chapter.
My transformation began.
I forgave my father. I healed my chronic headaches. I changed my career, finally following my calling to be a coach and writer.
But that is not the end of it. That is not even the point of it.
The point is that I finally took charge: I realized that I had the power and the responsibility to change direction. I made choices that led me towards my dreams. I led myself in the direction of happiness, health, self-love, and freedom.
Rome wasn’t built in a day and I am not perfect, only human. I still have ways to go, some chapters to edit, and many new chapters to write with purpose and passion each day.
My power comes from knowing that I’m not my old story. And, perhaps, I’m not even my new story. Who I am is a passionate woman on a beautiful journey taking some courageous and inspiring steps forward each day. And that is more than enough.