Recognizing the difference between 'true' and 'truth' changes ever

I was mindlessly scrolling on Facebook late last week when a post caught my attention.

GREAT NEWS! WE'RE HIRING! Click on the link to learn more.

The post was from a former employer and I was curious, so I clicked.

Turns out, the listing was for my old job.

A job I loved. A job I was really, REALLY good at.

Huh. Interesting, I thought.

I closed out of Facebook and got on with the day, but that job listing lingered in the back of my mind.

As the hours and days passed, the thoughts kicked in.

First, it was:

Awww, that was a really fun job…

I remember how lovely it was to get a regular paycheck. 

No guesswork. No hustle culture!. No selling myself!. No figuring out what to do every damn day…

I used to describe this job to friends as a much-needed ‘rest stop’ after my 12-year adventure on the entrepreneurial speedway that was Stella & Dot. I loved the predictability, the set hours and being able to both literally and figuratively shut my laptop at day's end.

Now, if the thoughts had stopped there, it would have been fine. A nice trip down memory lane. But the thoughts did not, in fact, stop there. 

They got increasingly louder:

Damn. I actually KNOW how to do that job.

I bet I could get that job if I applied.

I wonder if they’d consider making it part time…

Should I call my contacts over there and ask about it?

Then, they got dark and destructive:

Wait…If I reach out, does it look like I'm failing at my own business? 

What else am I qualified to do at this point?

Who else would hire me?

Maybe this is my last shot. 

What am I even doing with my life? 

I was sinking deeper and deeper into a pool of fear and shame. 

In the days that followed, I walked around with a constant pit in my stomach, a lump in my throat and this loop on repeat: 

I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not driven enough. 

Melodramatic? Maybe. 

But, right then, that was my truth.  

The funny thing about truth, though? 

Our truth and what is true are two separate things. 

Read that again.

Our truth and what is true are two separate things. 

There is this vast, murky space between what is true (facts) and the truth we tell ourselves.

Case in point: 

I stumbled across a job posting for a role I held years ago. That’s true. It was just text on a screen, a reminder of a past chapter, nostalgia for what was. Facts.

But my brain? 

My brain craves the easy, safest and most predictable path. Thus, it went into story mode and built an alternate truth. 

Within hours of looking at that job listing, the story in my head went from “Aww, that was a great job,” to “You are failing. You aren't cut out for this entrepreneurial life.” 

Pretty big jump, right?

And while you might be thinking that’s ridiculous, to me it felt 100% real and really heavy. 

Like, maybe-I-should-update-my-resume heavy 

But it wasn't real. 

It wasn’t the facts.

It was my mind playing a very old, very human trick – trying to make me feel small because small feels safe. Small feels manageable. 

To those of you shouting at the screen, "Carla, you help women through these moments all the time. It’s literally what you do,” you are correct, and also…

If there’s one thing I know about myself after all these years, it’s that my own self-esteem gets tangled up in a lot of other shit: the normal and natural fluctuations of building a business; my daily productivity; the number of opens this newsletter gets; the likes on a social media post; the way I feel in my jeans. 

As a result, one bad experience can end up feeling like an indictment on my worthiness.

And that job listing felt like an escape hatch to safety.

Does it make sense? No. But under stress, we're not always rational.

It’s why I lean so heavily into the purposeful pause – for myself, my clients, my children, anyone who will listen basically. 

For years, I prided myself on being so incredibly self-aware. 

But awareness without action becomes its own kind of comfortable trap. 

What we choose to do with our awareness is what changes our outcomes. It's what shapes our reality.  

The pause, plus curiosity, gives us the space to consider what’s actually going on and how we want to respond to it. 

And what I reminded myself of is this:

I am building something from scratch. It’s not supposed to be a straightforward, simple path.  

And I realized something else, too.

Creating a personal definition of success is a key pillar in the work my clients and I do together.  In fact, it sets the foundation for everything thereafter. 

I never clearly defined what success means to me in this new chapter. So I’ve been holding myself to a standard that doesn’t necessarily map to my values, vision and goals. 

Ooops. 

At the end of the day. pining for an old safety net doesn’t mean I’m failing. It just means that I am a human having a hard day, trying to navigate a brave, unfamiliar path. 

That’s it. That’s all.

So here's where I turn the mirror toward you.

Because I don't think this is a job-listing story. Or an entrepreneur story. Or even a Carla story, really.

I think it's a being-human story.

So, what’s your version of that job listing? Not literally – but the thing that shows up out of nowhere and makes you question everything. 

Maybe it's a friend's promotion. A neighbor's beach house. A number on a scale, a bank statement, a school pickup line where everyone else seems to have it more together than you.

Whatever it is, it finds the same soft spot. The one attached to your worthiness. Your enough-ness. And just like that, your brain does what brains do. It builds a story. Fast, convincing, and almost entirely made of fear.

Is it true? Or is it the truth?

Because here's the thing about those old stories – the ones about not being disciplined enough, smart enough, or far enough along. They didn't show up yesterday. Most of them have been running in the background for years, sometimes decades, subconsciously deciding what you believe is possible for you.

And honestly, you don't have to argue with them. You just have to notice them. Pause. And then, ask a curious question: is this actually mine? Or is this an old measuring stick I never agreed to be measured by?

If a part of you keeps circling back to a story like that – one that's been running longer than you'd like to admit – I'd love to help you take a closer look at it.

No pressure. Just possibility.