The Story That Wasnβt Mine
When I was young, my mother often told me she hadn’t been able to finish her studies because she fell pregnant with me.
She said it lightly, almost jokingly — but I felt -subconsciously- the weight of it.
It became, sort of, my quiet mission: to make up for what she had missed.
To do well.
To finish my studies.
To take care of her.
To make her proud — because, somehow, deep down, I felt responsible for her loss.
I never questioned it. Children rarely do.
We absorb these stories as truth and build our lives around them.
We don’t notice the invisible contract we’ve signed:
“Because of me, she couldn’t… so now I must.”
And then, about ten years ago, I found out her story wasn’t true.
She wasn’t studying at the time when she got pregnant with me.
She was already working.
It sounds like a small detail, but it changed everything for me.
The story that shaped who I thought I had to be — the good daughter, the achiever, the I-make-sure-everything-is-fine — wasn’t even real.
It was her story, not mine.
And yet, it had defined me. Negatively but as well in positive sense.
You’ve probably heard stories like this.
Stories told half-jokingly, that a child doesn’t doubt but acknowledges as the truth.
Stories that quietly shape how you see yourself, and what you believe you owe.
I wish I could tell you that my mother and I talked it through.
We didn’t. It’s a non-negotiable topic between us.
She doesn’t recognise my version, or my feelings about it.
That was painful — but it’s also reality. And I am okay with it.
What matters now is that I see it clearly.
That I can separate her truth from mine.
And that I can finally stop carrying something that was never mine to carry.
Awareness doesn’t erase the past —
it simply gives you a choice.
To see what shaped us.
To decide what we still want to carry.
That, to me, is what healing and awareness really means:
moving from surviving to living.
And by the way, don't feel sorry for me: my mother was always there for me and still is a very sweet woman.
If this story resonates — if you, too, feel shaped by old family patterns or quiet expectations — you don’t have to explore them alone.
In The Bridge, my six-month journey, we work with exactly this:
the stories, loyalties, and hidden contracts that still shape who you think you have to be.
Together, we create space for who you truly are —
free, connected, and true to yourself.
You’re welcome. Always.
