Old Stories, New Chapter: When Your Past Gets in the Way of Creating Your Present

I was scheduled to deliver a talk on a subject I can nerd out on for hours – rewriting the subconscious rules that dictate our lives.

I had a specific woman in mind while drafting this presentation. Ambitious. Successful on the outside but struggling on the inside. Pushing up against the boundaries of her current life, but unclear on what’s next.

A few days before, while on the phone with the organizer, I learned my audience was decidedly not the woman I was imagining. Rather, the group would be a savvy and sage collective of 70 and 80 year olds.

I heard nothing she said after that. I was too busy spiraling.

Fuuuuuuu…..How did I miss that? 

Will this even resonate with them? Have I just spent the last few weeks perfecting a talk that no longer makes sense? Am I wasting their time? Will they all just sit quietly, smiling politely while thinking “Bless her heart”?

My mom is in her mid-80s and has been a little cynical wary of my mindset theories and practices over the years. Not to say she doesn’t respect my point of view and passion for purposeful pivots. Rather, she poo-poos them, saying they don’t apply to her at this stage in life.

So you can imagine why I was so concerned.

Naturally, she was my next call.

As my worries spilled out, I was imagining a slight smile on her face – a knowing twinkle in her eye that signaled “I told you so.”

Read me the script, she said.

What? 

A sudden rush of adrenaline and spike in heart rate followed.

My mom looms large in this talk, and I was not prepared to share it.

The entire set up is a flashback to a not-so-happy time in our lives. A formative experience that laid the foundation for my own subset of unconscious rules. 

If I read this to her, I worried, it’s going to trigger her own memories of a painful chapter. It’ll stir up old insecurities about being a ‘bad mom.’  I’m going to upset her. 

A few beats pass. 

I'm scared.

Ok, I finally say.

With my heart still racing, I launch in:

I remember standing in the hallway outside my mother’s bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

And I was trying very hard not to let it creak.

Because if it creaked… it might wake her up.

And waking her up was unpredictable.

My delivery lacks the conviction of previous rehearsals. I am so focused on taking the emotion out of it. I'm mentally detaching from sentences which reflect my truth, just so I can get through without losing it. 

What I didn’t realize then, but understand now

is that in those cautious moments…

I was building a rule for myself.

A rule that said:

If I stay quiet…

If I’m accommodating…

If I don’t disturb the peace…

I’ll be safe.

No one will get angry.

And I’ll deserve their love.

My face is hot.

I have to stop myself from halting mid-sentence to apologize. 

When I finish, there's silence on the other end of the line.

And then she says ‘I’m sorry.’

She apologizes.  

I die a little inside.

No, no, no, mom, I say!  

There is nothing to apologize for. NOTHING! 

And I mean that with every ounce of my being. 

I don't remember exactly what I said next. It’s a bit of a blur. But I do remember being emphatic that I know she was doing the best she could back then. That it was simply my normal. Not good. Not bad. Just the way things were for a period of time. I never even gave it a second's thought.

It’s only in the looking-back that I fully grasped the power in those moments. Revisiting that childhood memory through a different lens has been, and continues to be, the greatest gift. Reconnecting with little Carla, understanding why she did what she did and how it carried over into her adult life was a crucial turning point in the way I show up for myself.  

Because the truth is, the rules I created in those cautious moments did protect me. They kept me safe. Helped me belong. I was popular in high school and college. I was an achiever and superlative winner. A ‘great hire’ who bosses and clients loved. A girlfriend that parents universally approved of. 

But as the years passed, those very same rules were still running the show. But now, they were getting in the way. While little Carla followed the rules to be liked and feel safe, adult Carla was shrinking under the weight of them. They prevented her from standing her ground. From speaking up. From asking for what she needed, and saying what she wanted. 

That realization was painful. But it was also the first step towards breaking the hold those rules had over me. 

My mom and I stayed on the phone for another hour, talking, discussing, exploring other rules we’ve both contended with over the years and how they show up. It was, I suspect, the first time she ‘got it’ – the first time she was actually contemplating the power of a purposeful pivot in her own life.  

A few days later, she called:

Carly, I just have to share this with you. I had a prescription at CVS I needed to pick up. But I wasn’t dressed and didn’t have any makeup on. I wasn’t going to leave the house like that.

But then I remembered our conversation, about the rule we share – appearances matter. And you know what? I went out anyway! Not only did I grab my prescription, I walked the aisles and picked up a few other things, too. 

And the world didn’t end, I joked? 

My turn for a little “I told you so” ribbing. 

Nope, she laughed.

I sensed something in her voice. Satisfaction, maybe?

That was the only validation I needed going into my talk. 

Here's what I know from doing this work – with clients, with audiences, and now with my mom at CVS: the rules don't have an expiration date, but neither does your ability to rewrite them. 

If you've been circling something – a pattern you can't quite name, a feeling of being stuck that doesn't match your life on paper – that's usually a rule worth looking at. I’m here when you’re ready. I'd love to help you uncover it.