I have always prided myself on being an open book. From the time I was a teenager, I was not inhibited in the least about broadcasting the goings-on in my family (to the horrors of my mother). As an adult, I continued to replay these tales. “My parents did this wrong”. “My parents did that wrong”. “My mother was a screamer and a drama queen.”  My father was a dreamer and a control freak.” No wonder I couldn’t achieve my highest goals, I was from a dysfunctional family and it was all my parents’ fault.

What a crock of bull! Even though I long ago grew beyond retelling these stories, I realize that they can still sit underneath the surface sabotaging us. It’s the stuff we tell ourselves when were scared, when were worried about covering the bills before the next payday, when we don’t know the answer to a problem or when we’re faced with opportunities but are frozen in fear to act. These stories we weave don’t serve us, they never really did.

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