We all carry stories, constructed meanings we’ve absorbed over time to help us understand who we are. These stories often begin early, shaped by what we were told, what we experienced, and what we learnt to believe in order to feel accepted or safe.

But these are not the only stories.

Sometimes the stories we carry begin to feel heavy, defined by anxiety, perfectionism, overdoing, or by exhaustion, silence, and withdrawal. These aren’t just habits; they’re survival responses. We might feel pulled to do too much, to always be ‘on,’ or to find ourselves shutting down and stepping back from the world. Either way, the result is the same: we lose touch with the part of us that simply is, before the fear, before the coping.

That part of you hasn’t disappeared. It is still there. The original self, creative, steady, and intuitive, sits beneath the surface, waiting patiently for space to emerge. It's not the self that performs or seeks approval, but the one who understands the essence of reality.

As you begin to reflect, create, move, or write, something shifts. You’re not just analysing yourself; you’re meeting yourself. The quiet rhythm of truth begins to return.

Some gentle invitations for reflection:

• What parts of me have I hidden to be accepted?
• Where did I learn that I needed to be more, or less, than I am?
• What am I ready to release to reconnect with what’s true?

These reflections are not about fixing who you are. They are about remembering. These reflections aim to soften the grip of mistaken identity and re-enter the quietness of your own knowing.

When we live from that place, not from reaction but from presence, something profound begins to happen: we feel more whole, more honest, and more alive.