Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about personal stories. To be more precise, about the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. And often, these stories are whiny stories, they’re negative stories, they’re stories of lack, of doubt, of fear.
But these stories don’t serve us in any way.
They only keep us stuck and afraid and operating on a very low frequency.
On some level, I’ve never quite believed that everything happens for a reason. I’ve never believed that tragedy is necessary for or a precursor to transformation. Tragedy may or may not transform you. But there is never a “reason” for tragedy.
There are a huge number of empty platitudes floating around the interwebs, supposed inspiration that actually is a pill to ignore the grief. To get up and move on, to treat grief and loss like an illness or disease that must be cured.
