Rewriting the Story They Told About You

You Are Not the Story They Told About You

Somewhere along the way, we each inherited a story about ourselves.

It might have been spoken outright—“You’re shy.” “You’re not artistic.” “You’re the practical one.”
Or it might have been woven subtly into the fabric of our lives through expectations, labels, and the way others responded to us.

Perhaps, once upon a time, those stories fit. But time is a sculptor, and we are not the same shape we once were.

As the oldest girl in a tumultuous family, I was expected to be the caretaker. Even if I wasn’t up to the job description as a child, the expectations stuck. It has taken a lifetime to shrug off that expectation and change my own narrative. I still sometimes unwittingly take on that role, until I stop myself, sometimes mid action or mid thought and remember that I am no longer responsible for everyone. Everyone has their own past stories and expectations that were written and spoken about them.

Is it time to change the narrative?

Spending time alone in nature helps to strengthen the current definition of who you are. Recalibrating your thought patterns and actions by being out in nature and quietly observing the sounds and rhythms that surround you. As in nature, each entity is interwoven and also distinctly responsible for its own growth and survival. And, everything grows, changes and evolves. Look at the rivers and creeks that flow through the earth. The courses change with time and weather, winding over and around rocks, shaping and reshaping as they flow. You are not the person you once were and the need to acknowledge the change is as natural as the water that flows through the creek.

At Finding Nature’s Beauty, we believe that in the stillness of nature, you can begin to hear the truer story—the one that lives beneath the noise, beneath the conditioning, beneath the need to earn permission to become someone new.

James Clear, in Atomic Habits, reminds us that our actions grow from identity, not the other way around. And yet, we are conditioned to reverse the order. We wait for proof before giving ourselves the name. We think, I’ll call myself an artist when my work is in a gallery, or I’ll see myself as peaceful when my life is perfectly calm.

But history tells a different truth.

Consider Vincent van Gogh. During his lifetime, he sold only one painting. By the measures of his era, he was unsuccessful. Yet he painted with the full conviction of an artist—not because the world confirmed it, but because that is who he believed himself to be. His identity was not granted by others; it was claimed in the quiet, often lonely act of creation.

So the question is not, What have I done? but Who am I choosing to be?

When we cling to outdated stories about ourselves, we live as if the past still holds the pen. But you are the pen now. And each moment you spend in nature—with your breath slowing, your shoulders easing, your mind untangling—is a moment where that old narrative loses its grip.

The forest doesn’t ask for your resume before it welcomes you. The river doesn’t withhold its reflection until you prove your worthiness. They simply offer space. Stillness. Presence.

From that stillness, we can begin to change the language we use about ourselves. Instead of, “I’m trying to be more creative,” we say, “I am creative.” Instead of, “I’m learning to slow down,” we say, “I live at a mindful pace.” Our words direct our attention, and our attention shapes our reality.

It begins with claiming the name—artist, writer, peaceful soul, joyful wanderer—before the evidence, before the approval, before the world agrees.

You are the one writing the next chapter.

So I’ll leave you with this: If your past no longer had the power to define you, how would you introduce yourself to the world today?