(You can stop that now)

Photo by Bekah Russom on Unsplash
When I was around 14 years old I shared a room with my sister. It wasn’t a big room but I enjoyed moving my bed and dresser around just to change things up whenever I got bored with the layout. The bed was heavy so it took a lot of shoving, pushing, and pulling to get it where I wanted, but it was always worth the effort.
One time I had spent most of the day rearranging my bed at the far end of the room, closer to the window, which gave me more space in the middle of the room. It was cozier, and I was happy with it.
When I was done I opened the bedroom door to proudly show my parents what I had accomplished.
My mom nodded and said it looked okay. My dad pointed out that I was blocking the heat from the baseboards because my bed was too close to it. I hadn’t noticed that but I said I was okay with it. We argued back and forth for a minute, and I don’t remember what else was said exactly, but our conversation ended with my dad yelling “Dummy!” at me before storming back down the hallway.
At the time I had a chip on my shoulder so I didn’t think anything my dad could say would bother me.
But my dad telling me I was dumb did bother me. It bothered me so much that I spent the next 40 years trying to prove him wrong, even though I secretly believed he was right.
I think I doubted my intelligence long before that moment, and my dad’s words just confirmed the thoughts I already had.
My brain was very good at providing evidence to back up my belief. I consistently got A’s in advanced English, and A’s and B’s in advanced biology, but those were easy to dismiss.
It’s the D’s and F’s I received in math class – everything from basic algebra to geometry – that my brain focused on. I would see “everyone else” around me (and by everyone I mean the 2 or 3 people who were good at math) answering questions like it all made perfect sense to them. Meanwhile, I stared at the jumble of numbers and symbols on my paper, holding back tears, because none of it made any sense to me and I was too embarrassed to ask for help.
I chose the smallest sample of what my brain had to offer and used it as evidence to prove my thought, and my dad’s words, that I was, indeed, dumb.
But why? Why do so many of us choose to believe the worst about ourselves?
Thinking back now it might have been that I was afraid of being smart. According to my primal brain smart people stood out. Parents and teachers expected things from them. If I wasn’t smart I didn’t have that kind of responsibility, no one would expect anything from me, and I could blend in and not get noticed.
Whatever the reason, I spent the majority of my life hiding, playing small, and not believing in myself. I never took the time to learn who I was and what I was capable of, so I was left with believing another person’s opinion of me.
Here’s the reality – negative words are just words, they only hurt when part of us believes them to be true.
Are you also believing – and finding validation for – something negative about yourself, and using select, outside opinions to confirm your internal bias? Have you been hiding and playing small, for whatever reason?
If you are, I can promise it isn’t serving you. And it isn’t serving the people around you who love you.
No one else is like you…no one before you was, and no one after you will be. You are, and will always be the only amazing, beautiful, unique, you. You deserve to know yourself and to share your true self with your loved ones around you.
You deserve to discover how capable you truly are, decide what you want and who you want to be, and then go out and create it.
Artist, writer, dancer, architect, investor, lawyer, teacher, it’s all open to you.
Discover What’s Possible.
P.S. If any of this resonates with you – I can help! Let’s connect and let me show you how to discover who you are and how to create your full, intentional life.








