Breaking Free from the Invisible Scripts That Define Us

We don’t always realise it, but we all live by stories.

Consciously or subconsciously, the meaning-making part of our brain can’t help but weave them ; justifying why we are the way we are, why we do what we do, and even why others do what they do, why we keep ending up in the same kinds of relationships and why we feel stuck, no matter how hard we try to move forward.

Some of these stories are borrowed from our own experiences: what we’ve seen, heard, and how we’ve learned to perceive the world (as safe, unsafe, unforgiving, untrustworthy, and so on).
But many of them… well, they’re old hand-me-downs.

Passed down by parents, teachers, communities, society, or born in moments that left a lasting mark. Sometimes you stitched them together yourself — in moments of confusion, shame, heartbreak, survival.

The stories they once had about you quietly became the stories you tell yourself every day, often without even realising it.

And here’s the catch: Over time, these stories start to feel like facts. About you. Sounding like this:
“I’m just not good with people."
"I always end up getting hurt."
"I’m too sensitive."
"I’ll never amount to anything."
"I don’t have the skills for this.”

And somewhere along the way, we forget that these are just versions of a story. Not the full picture!

A client will say, “I’ve always been the anxious one in the family,” or “I guess I’m just bad at relationships.” And I’ll ask:
“Where did you learn that from?”

And then… they pause.
That tiny, curious pause?
That’s where narrative therapy begins.
In a deeply human way of simply starting to notice : The stories we’ve been carrying. The ones that have shaped how we move through the world, and how we see ourself inside it.

We repeat these so often they stop sounding like stories and start sounding like identity.

The narrative approach doesn’t ask you to “just think positive” or sprinkle glitter on your pain. It simply invites you to pause long enough to wonder:

Where did this version of the story come from?

Is this still the only version I want to live by?

Who might I be without it?

And there’s a strange kind of freedom in realising you can hold a story up to the light and choose to rework it. Not by erasing your past, but by weaving in other threads:
Threads of strength.
Of tenderness.
Of resistance.
Of survival.
Of quiet change, even when no one else noticed.

And it’s not dramatic. Sometimes, it’s you simply saying, “I’d never thought of it like that,” is enough to begin a shift.

This isn’t about becoming someone “brand new.”
(Because you are not a self-help project.)

It’s about uncovering the parts of you that have been there all along, buried under years of shame, fear, and roles you didn’t even know you were playing!

If you feel like you’ve been carrying around a story that feels heavy, limiting, or just… not yours anymore —
Maybe this is the nudge you need.

And you can start simply.
You can start by just noticing…