The Stories We Tell



by Mikaela Silcox

The stories we tell ourselves are important. They create our perception of how we experience and respond to life. They define us and what we are capable of. They are rooted so deep within us that we don’t even realize the impact they have in our daily lives. In the actions we take, behaviors we exhibit and the feelings we allow to control us.

Ever wonder why so many of us may have similar experiences but such different outcomes in the end? Being aware of your story can help show you why.

It is a core belief in my practice that we are the creators of our own reality. If we want to change it, we can. It isn’t easy, but recognizing the story we allow to narrate our natural experience is one worth exploring. It took me much of my life to realize my story was working against me. It took me even longer to believe I had the strength within me to rewrite the narrative that held me back.

This is my story....

For far too long, I believed life was meant to be harder for me. I was destined to wander aimlessly, searching for the missing piece of me – the part that everyone else seemed to have. Guided by an ever-present voice in my head, one who thrived on perpetuating my feelings of unworthiness, I remained a victim of my own story, allowing life to control me in ways that were exhausting.

You are not deserving - you are not enough.

No matter how hard you try, you will always be a failure.

There is something wrong with you. You are broken.

Life just seemed easier for everyone else. Happiness came naturally to them.

But me? Nope, not me. I had to work for it.

I was constantly comparing myself to others and trying to measure up to their versions of everything – life, health, success, joy. How could I do the same thing but experience it so differently?

The feelings of being a fractured being dominated my life and were further amplified by frequent bouts of depression. Some episodes would last days, weeks, months or even years. I just didn’t understand what was wrong with me as an individual to deserve this life.

Why can’t I seem to claim this effortless enthusiasm for the things in my life that others were just born with? What was wrong with me? That question dominated much of my thinking.

At age 21, I became a mother, a single mom shortly after. As a college student, this was not easy. As a young adult, this was not easy. As a new professional, this was not easy. Life was not only harder now, but a constant fight to survive. I went from day to day, moment to moment, in a constant state of fight or flight.

Be a good mom. Finish college. Work hard. Be good. Smile. Keep up. Be perfect. Control yourself. Control everything because you’ll only have yourself to blame when things fall apart.

Providing for my baby, who deserved a better experience than my own, was the only thing I had the energy or capacity to strive for. Roof overhead. Food in belly. Happy, happy, happy. She must be happy, or else what was the point of it all?

The idea of me, Mikaela, as an individual person, capable of having her own dreams and interests was just irrelevant. If life was going to be this way for me, I might as well try to be the best. It was a veneer that I put over me – a façade to keep me going and motivated, a part that I was forever destined to play. Because the worst thing that could ever happen was others to know of my feelings. Lonely. Desperate. Overwhelmed. Sad.

Now, thankfully. I was good at playing this part. As hard as life was, I made it! I graduated from college, had a successful career. I saved for a decade to be able to buy my own place for my daughter and I. Things were good! At least on the outside. On the inside, I was insecure, unsure and unconfident. How can I have achieved this and still not be happy? What is wrong with me???

So, I read the books, did the journals, tried all the self-care, gadgets and therapy – convinced that if I just did this or that, my melancholy lens would magically vanish. It might fade for a few days, weeks, months – but always came back. No matter what successes I had, or memories created with loved ones – I didn’t feel happy.

I finally came to accept that my life was meant to be lackluster. I was broken – there was something wrong with me. Surviving and getting by is the best it’ll ever be. Hoping for anything more than that just made me sad, so I settled into the routine and just went with it.

And then my breaking point came when I did not receive an opportunity I felt my efforts had earned me. Every horrible word that voice had ever told me was true. And it wasn’t just in my head – that is how everyone around me saw me as well. This was the ultimate validation that I did not deserve anything. I was not enough. My biggest fear had been realized – I am the worst version of me that my inner voice had taunted me with…and everyone around me agrees.

And that mask I thought I wore so well. I hadn’t. I had failed. Everything had been a lie. Nothing I thought I had worked so hard for even mattered. I didn’t measure up.

This low point was different. It shook me to the core more than any other depression had. It seemed as if the entire world had turned against me. I did not matter. I was irrelevant. I felt the weight of my crumbling world resting on my shoulders. I had picked up the pieces so many times before, but now, I didn’t know how to put myself back together. That image of who I thought I was didn’t really exist.

At one point, my daughter asked me why I cared so much because I wasn’t even happy anyways.  Wow – her words felt profound and I saw the consequences of my mindset through her eyes. Why was I mourning a self-identity that I didn’t even enjoy?

I knew I had to do something. Something different, something new. The decision to invest in myself and my own happiness was the most important decision I ever made. Turning the mirror inward and connecting with the real me was not easy – but worth it infinitely over. How would I ever know if I was happy unless I created my own definition of happiness? How would I ever know I was successful if I depended on other people to tell me and not my own sense of self-worth?

For all that I tried to control, I never really had the belief that I was in charge. I was a victim of my life’s circumstances, not that my life was the result of my intentional actions. The identity of fear and failure that I operated under every day – I had, at some point, far outgrown and surpassed.

But I had continued to operate under those beliefs. The “success” markers I strove towards were based on my perception of someone else’s definition, not my own. I could never feel like ‘I made it’ if I didn’t know where I was going.

My process of self-reflection and nourishment began with a coach and a serious commitment to self-reflect. I learned the importance of being aware of my body and feelings, not just pushing them down to “deal with them later”, especially if “later” never came. I learned to accept me for me and love me for me. I learned to find intention in the things I did – an intention that was to honor myself. The more I nourished myself, the more I had to give to others. Self-care wasn’t selfish, it was the most selfless thing I could do!

I realized that I, Mikaela, as an individual person with my own needs, wants and desires DOES matter. I had been defining my worth by what others thought and that thing that I had been missing – that capacity for happiness had always been within me.

I am deserving. I am enough. I am capable.

I am successful. I am strong. I am resilient.

Who I am now is exactly who I was meant to be. And I am so grateful for that.