The Story I Tell Myself

What happens when a story we learned in childhood keeps shaping the way we look for love and belonging in midlife?

The Search for Belonging

When I think about growing up, I remember feeling isolated and alone, like I did not belong. If, as a child, I believed my mother did not love me, I started to believe nobody else ever will.

I do not have to say those words out loud for them to shape how I move through the world. I try to be funny. I try to be adventurous and fun to be around. I become a little philosophical, turning things over in my mind and looking for meaning. I try to do a good job. Maybe if I am someone people enjoy being around, someone they can count on, someone who makes them laugh, they will want me there.

I keep looking for places where I feel like I fit in.

Finding Recognition at Work

Recognition can become part of that search. When someone tells me I did a good job, gives me a pat on the back, or notices what I have done, it feels good. I feel seen. I feel I have someone’s approval, or at least their attention in a good way. That feeling encourages me to do it again.

I see that pattern throughout my work life. I often excel, take on more responsibility, and become a supervisor or manager. I am reliable and steady. I rarely call in sick. I am self-motivated, and I do my job well. Those are things I value about myself. At the same time, I can see how much it means to have someone recognize them.

I have been a massage therapist for 13 years, and I have owned my own business for the last decade. I am self-employed and self-motivated. When I give someone a good massage and they appreciate it, that feels good. I know I have helped them. I also feel that my work has been noticed. Recognition matters to me, just as praise in sports or at another job matters. Someone tells me I did well, and I want to do well again.

I do not know if there is one particular moment when I realize I am looking for approval. Maybe I learn, over and over, how good it feels when someone sees me in a positive light. The compliment lands. The attention feels good. I want to experience that feeling again.

There is nothing wrong with feeling good when someone appreciates me. I want to be good at what I do. I want to be reliable. I want people to enjoy my company. The question I begin to ask is whether I am doing these things only to earn a place with other people, or whether they are also part of who I choose to be.

A Different Story to Tell

As I get older, I start to understand that the story I tell myself is not the same as the whole truth. Feeling alone and unwanted is real. Believing that I will never be loved because I felt that way is a conclusion I have carried from it.

My mother died a couple of years ago. Before she died, we resolved things between us. That matters to me. It does not erase the years when I feel isolated or change what it is like to grow up believing I do not belong. It is also part of my story with her, and I want to remember it accurately.

This is where the Observer becomes important to me. The Observer lets me notice a thought without immediately accepting it as the final truth. I can hear the old belief that I am unwanted. I can recognize why it is there. Then I can pause and ask whether it is the only story I can tell about myself.

Choosing What I Believe Now

The story I choose now is that I am worthy of love and kindness. I have people who care about me. I can receive appreciation without making it the measure of my worth. I can enjoy doing a good job and being someone others like to spend time with, while remembering that I do not have to perform for every bit of love I receive.

Happiness comes from inside me. That does not mean other people do not matter. Their kindness matters. Their care matters. It means my inner life is also mine to tend. I can choose which thoughts I listen to and which story I keep repeating.

The past does not disappear when I change that story. The loneliness still belongs to my life. So does the fact that my mother and I resolved things before she died. I am learning to hold those truths together without letting the old belief decide what comes next.

I am worthy of love and kindness. I am cared for. I belong to myself, and I can let the people who care about me come closer.

That question runs through 50 Things at 50. The experiences in the book gave me new things to try, but the deeper work was learning to notice the old stories I carried into them and deciding whether those stories still deserved the final word.

What story have I carried for so long that I have mistaken it for the whole truth?