Your Stories | The Whispers Holding You Back

My back pressed into the cold, hard floor.

My legs ached and my hips were screaming.

The footsteps were getting closer. Sweat dripped down the back of my spine as the slow creep of impending doom padded across the floor toward me.

Then it happened.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder.

I flinched.

‘Leesa, could you try bending a little to the left?’

New year, new me. So I was at a f***ing yoga class.

I’ve always envied those fabulous, flexible people who have bodies like elastic bands and minds like clear blue skies. And I’ve always wanted a taste of that elusive bliss that makes you all floaty and smug.

So there I was, bent up like a pretzel, comparing myself to everyone else in the class and doing my best not to fart.

And then the teacher tells me I’m doing it wrong.

You might be wondering what the issue is. I mean, that’s what the teacher is there for, right? What’s the point in going to a class if you’re not going to learn anything?

I understand the logic. But when she pointed out my error, I felt like a fish caught trying to climb a tree.

I was embarrassed. I felt stupid. I was filled with shame.  

Why?

Because I’d told myself a scary story.

It all started once upon a time, many years ago, in a land far away.

At my primary school.

As a child I had no natural affinity for sports. Whenever PE lessons came around I could be found cowering in the corner of the changing room praying for the building to catch on fire just so I could skip netball. 

Gymnastics class was a sh*t show. 

Other kids were doing cartwheels while I was just about managing a star jump.

And I don’t know about PE teachers now but back then they were monsters. 

It was terrifying.

It was humiliating. 

It was the least cool I’ve ever been. 

So I decided I must be clumsy and stupid. I told myself the story that I didn’t belong. And I started avoiding exercise classes as soon as I was old enough to choose. 

Fast forward to several decades later and I’m a grown ass woman with friends and a life and a job, cowering in the corner of the local leisure centre and crying into my leotard.

Because deep down, I believed I had no right to be there. And when the kindly teacher suggested I adjust my pose, it felt like confirmation. 

The story had stuck.

You can apply this to any area of life

Your fear of public speaking.

Your belief that you’re not clever.

The fact that every time you go into an expensive shop you think someone is about to ask you to leave. (Just me?)

These things become self fulfilling prophecies. You think you’re no good at public speaking so you stumble over your words the first time and never try it again. You think you’re not smart so you don’t try to learn new things.

You act like such a weirdo every time you go into Waitrose that the staff think you’re about to steal something and they do ask you to leave.

See? Self fulfilling.

What are the stories holding you back? 

The tales you’ve told yourself because of one monstrous teacher, or school bully, or perhaps a stressed out parent? 

They’re not easy to spot but there are always clues. 

Follow the fear. 

Dig into it.

Ask yourself, if the thing I’m afraid of actually happens, what will that mean about me?

That’s where you’ll find your story.

And then you can get to changing it to something else. 

Because spoiler alert, these stories are very rarely true.

Now, I don’t know what you’ll be doing next Tuesday but I’ll be at my yoga class. Because my new story is that I’m someone who loves to learn new things.

Maybe next time you’re afraid of doing something, follow the fear, uncover the faulty narrative and write yourself a new one. 

And if you like the way I just used a story to make a point, there’s more where that came from. 

Take a look at some of my other musings. I promise they’ll be worth at least a few minutes of your time.

Leesa x

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