The lies we tell ourselves about ourselves.

We all carry private stories about who we are, not because they're true,

but because at some point they kept us safe. The quiet scripts running in the background,

shaping the way we see ourselves long before we even notice that they're there. These aren't

random thoughts. They're survival narratives that end up writing for more of our lives than we

realize. How we internalize them.

The lies we care about ourselves often begin before we even have words for them. Sometimes

they're spoken outright. You're too sensitive. You'll never get it right. But just as often,

they're absorbed through subtler channels, the size, the eye rolls, the silence when we reach

for comfort. They're shaped by the roles we were cast into the scapegoat who learns I'm the

problem, the golden child who learns my worth is in performance. They're carved by inconsistency

where love and safety were unpredictable, leaving us to conclude,

if I were different, maybe they'd stay.

Even what was missing, the hug that never came, the question never asked, can deliver a message

as loud as any insult.

How they show up in our lives.

These early messages don't stay confined to childhood. They follow us like ghosts, shaping how we move through the world. They echo in our self-talk,

in the jobs we take, in the way our shoulders hunch or our voice falters when we speak. They script our

relationships. We chase partners who confirm our unworthiness.

We fawn and overgive to avoid being a burden. We censor joy or anger because too much still feels

dangerous. They sneak into work as perfectionism and posture syndrome or workaholism.

They're not just thoughts in our heads. They become postures,

...