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Who are we without our stories?
So if we aren't our stories, who are we? As I mentioned last week, we are here, in the present, as a result of our collected experiences. They have influenced us, and it is easy to see them as the only truth of our existence.
When our stories become alibis
We define ourselves by our stories. We tell them, often in the same way, over and over again. We talk about our childhoods and traumas from a fixed perspective. We have our stories of triumph, our stories of pain, and we speak about them as if they make up the fabric of our being. Which, on one hand, they do. We are here in this moment because of choices in the past.