Three Tiny Steps To Owning Who You Really Are

There was a version of me I was always trying to become.

She wrote the birthday cards on time. 

She said thank you the moment the gift was unwrapped. 

She never rushed a homework assignment, never failed the music theory class, never reached for the junk food, never let anyone down who was counting on her.

She was good. She got it right.

And she wasn't me.

For most of my life I believed that woman was the goal. That somewhere out ahead of me stood a tidier, more disciplined, better-behaved person, and my whole job was to roll up the old me, throw her away, and finally become her.

Maybe you know that feeling. The quiet sense that who you really are right now isn't quite enough yet. That the real you, the good you, is still up ahead somewhere, waiting for you to earn her.

If you do, I want to tell you what I found.

Because it set me free.

Where the striving began

I was raised to believe I could become a new person. That the old part of me was the bad part, and the new part was good and never got anything wrong.

As a child, I couldn't get my head around it.

As a teenager, I couldn't get my heart around it either. 

And I carried it right up into my adult life, this quiet running list of all the ways I was falling short.

Always in some kind of trouble. Always stepping into a mess. Never disciplined enough. Not good enough to be on the stage I wanted to be on. Not smart enough to be counted among the ones with the degrees and the accolades and the awards.

Not enough. So become someone different.

That was the whole instruction, as I understood it. Roll up the old woman who kept getting it wrong. Throw her away. Become the new one who did everything right.

There's a voice that keeps a list like that going. I call him “Fred”.

Fred is the voice of fear in all its many forms. Like a part of my brain that has become separate from me so I can see it and reason with it.

It’s not a villain, not a bully. 

More like a nervous friend who has read every past mistake and decided the safest thing is for you to be perfect before you're allowed to step out anywhere. 

Fred means well. He just believes the old you caused you a lot of pain, and that if he can get you polished enough, you'll finally be safe.

Fred kept me striving for years.

The thing that set me free

Here's the truth I found, and it undid the whole list.

When I was born, I entered a path. 

I was given a set of gifts. A set of interests. 

I was given my own eyes, to see the world from my point of view and no one else's. And not only was I given all of that, it’s the place where all my joy can come from. The particular things that bring me pleasure, that light me up, that feel most like me.

I wasn't sent here to become someone else. I was sent here to become more fully who I already was.

That doesn't mean pretending everything is glowing and perfect. It means I'm allowed to walk into a room with my eyes open the way only I can open them. 

I'm allowed to protect what needs protecting.

I'm allowed to stand strong in who I am. What's written on my heart is written there for a reason.

For a long time I let everyone else answer one question for me. Who tells me who I am?

The teachers. The boards I was never invited onto. The people whose approval I was quietly waiting for.

When I narrowed that answer down to two, me and God, I was set free.

I'm here for a purpose. 

To touch the world in some way that only I can. And honestly, that's the only thing I've found that keeps a person going in a wild, hard world where painful things happen without asking permission.

What the fire is for

I used to think the hard seasons were proof I still hadn't become the better woman yet.

Now I think the fire is what refines the gold. Think of how gold is purified in a big vat with intense fire beneath it. The impurities come to the top and are skimmed off.

What's left may not be perfect, but it's beautiful.

When I'm in the middle of it, that's when I see through my own eyes again. That's when I feel from my own heart. 

And when I give it a little time, that's when I reach for the gifts and the instincts that are already mine, the ones that carry me through, and let me hold out a hand to someone else in the way only I can.

This is the work I do now, as a Courage Architect. I sit with capable, tired women stuck in that same “not-enough” place, quietly longing to be Brave Enough, and we find the way back.

You were not born to be thrown away and replaced. You were born onto a path, with your own eyes and your own particular gifts. 

The bravest thing you may ever do is stop trying to become someone else, and come home to her.

So here are a few Tiny Brave Steps, small enough to feel safe.

• Notice one thing today that is particularly you. A way you see something, a small thing that brings you quiet joy. Don't fix it or improve it. Just let it be yours.

• When Fred hands you the old list, thank him, and set it down. You don't have to argue with him. You just don't have to obey him.

• And ask the question, gently. “Who tells me who I am?” Then notice how it feels to let the answer be a very short list.

If you'd like a step shaped for exactly where you are, the Tiny Brave Steps Generator will make you one. You can paste this in: "Help me notice one gift that is particularly mine, and give me one small way to honour it this week."

And this is the heart of what we do together in Creative Spaces. We find our way back to the woman we already are, and we start building our work, our world, and our character from that place. From freedom, not from the list.

Then…we go out and do what we’re meant to do. Come join us.