Unraveling Our Narratives – Light, Dark, and Everything In Between
You could say it involves mucking out the stables.
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Mucking The Stables
Where Do Our Stories Come From?
Re-Writing the Narratives - The Invitation & Your Story
Here’s an elegant, clear, and compelling linking sentence for your post:
Full disclosure, I held off writing this post.
I know my mother sometimes reads my Substack. As I considered sharing this one, I could almost feel her eyes roll at me—just a little—wondering why I’m putting so many emotions out in the open.
But here I am, gently nudging against that door, the one we often keep closed.
Emotions, and the narratives we carry about who we should be, are not meant to be tucked away. When we push them down, they tend to pile up, and those piles can wreak havoc in tiny and not-so-tiny ways.
I’ve always had an inkling of my body talking to me. It sends me cues, clues, tugs and nudges all over the map. Some days or months I smother these signals. Not wanting to listen. Other times the din gets too loud to ignore. I have to pay heed.
When I was little, this message system felt like being handed secret notes in class. I would savour them. Holding them in my sweaty hand. Feeling the worn edges of the folded paper. My secret reveal was always a bit lacklustre. Instead of a dramatic aha, it was more like ahem. A knowing groan of re-remembering.
I already knew what the note would say.
Still, I would expose this known answer all by myself. I’d unwrap, in a quiet corner. Tentatively. Not wanting to draw attention. I was afraid I’d show my tells to others.
Sure enough, my reactions are pretty reliable when it comes to opening that door of deep emotions. My eyes widen, usually darting up to the sky. I often avoid direct eye contact. A deep crimson blush creeps up my neck—splotching my face with a smattering of my emotions.
The ones that dare to fall on the outside.
I wondered… would others witness these tells? Would they see I had messages unanswered, or piles un dealt with? The fear was simple. Would they think I wasn’t as bullet-proof confident as I projected?
This is what I wanted to dig into with you today. Newsflash. I’m no longer little. And I no longer keep all my messaging tucked away. Ok. Some still are. But I’ve been venturing into exploring allowing the messages—my radiance, light and dark to show. I am facing my fears of showing up as me, without governors on.
A wise man shared this in a post last week, and as I read his words, I felt a familiar echo of my own narrative—the fear that maybe I told myself it’s not ok, or safe to fully be myself—and the messy embrace of ups and downs in life.
“I want someone to tell me I am not doing anything wrong. I want someone to tell me that it’s ok to be me.
What my body says to me all the time is: Will it be ok? And I have to just tell it the truth.
I tell it, I don’t know if everything will be what you call ok. I cannot promise you that. I can promise you there will be good time and there will also be terrible times.”
Mucking The Stables
In my morning meditations (hosted by my bros), there has been ample time and space to muck the stables. Let’s be honest—life’s got a way of piling up, like, well... manure in a stable. And when you haven’t mucked the stables for a while (or ever), there’s a lot of crap to shovel through. But here’s the thing: mucking out isn’t glamorous, but it’s necessary. Whether it’s through meditation or just taking time to reflect, clearing out the mental and emotional piles is like giving yourself a fresh start. Sure, it’s messy, but done regularly, it becomes a loving act—plus, who doesn’t feel a little lighter after getting rid of all that accumulated “stuff”?
In my recent mucking, I’ve been pondering narratives —the ones we inherit, the ones we create, and the ones we cling to for dear life. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been telling myself stories about who I am, where I fit, and what I’m capable of.
Some stories have been empowering, others limiting, and many of them—I’m realizing—are half-truths at best.
Just as I explored in my previous post on radiance, there’s a light that shines in each of us. A glow we’ve been cultivating, hiding, dimming, and rediscovering in cycles. Radiance—the light, the heat, the energy that reflects who we truly are. But I’m learning that radiance isn’t just about light. It’s about the darkness too. It’s about everything in between. And embracing that fullness is what’s untethering me from the stories I’ve told myself forever.
You see, life isn’t just about light and positivity. It’s not all about forward movement, achievement, and success. It’s 50/50—light and dark, joy and pain, creation and destruction. And the narratives we tell ourselves often cling to one side or the other.
For years, my narrative held onto the light: the part of me that was “good,” accomplished, smiling, and successful. But it tucked away the darker bits—the shadows of doubt, fear, failure, and messiness.
Don’t talk so much. Don’t be above your station. Stop being so emotional, or sensitive Hope. Your dreams are too out there. That idea isn’t possible—it’s never been done before.
Believe you me, the reactions were a plenty. They scared me back into my hole for a long time. But, sometimes it wasn’t any outside person’s influencing me. It was my own voice keeping me small. Scared. Held back.
Over the past few years I’ve made a commitment to release my radiance. Making a promise to let it all out. The bright and the dim. The sharp edges and the softness. Because to fully be—to truly live—is to embrace that life is 50/50. It’s the blending of light and dark that makes us whole, that shapes the stories we tell ourselves.
Where Do Our Stories Come From?
So, where do these stories come from? If you think about it, the narrative we live by—this script we follow—has been written for us in many ways. When we were young, we were told what to believe about the world and, more importantly, about ourselves. "You’re a good girl," "You’re shy," "You’re smart," "That’s not what girls do." These early messages shaped the plot line of our lives, unconsciously weaving themselves into our beliefs.
Bless those who raised us, taught us, and socialized us—because they were working from their own scripts too. Their own inherited stories. It’s not about blaming or being angry with them, but it’s about recognizing that the thesis of our lives, the moral of the story, was formed at a time when we weren’t even conscious of it.
For me, the thesis was about being enough. Enough for everyone else, but rarely for myself. The underlying belief was that I had to prove my worth, be perfect, never mess up. But as I grew, I started to realize something: the story I was telling wasn’t mine. Not entirely. I had to consciously rewrite it. I had to stop letting my life be defined by other people’s expectations and start untethering myself from the fear of being seen as messy, vulnerable, or incomplete.
Rewriting The Narrative
So here’s the thing: our personal narratives shape our reality. If you’re constantly telling yourself that you’re not enough, that life is meant to be a struggle, that you have to earn your place in the world, you’ll live accordingly. But what if, instead, we chose to write a new story?
What if, as Anaïs Nin said, “The risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom?”
The Invitation
What if we untethered ourselves from the stories that keep us small? From the narratives that hold us in place? I’m inviting you to look at the story you’re telling yourself right now. What is the thesis of your life? Is it a message of limitation, or is it one of expansion?
For me, I’m learning to let my story evolve. To release the need for perfection and embrace the messiness that comes with being human. This is why I created the WEvolve Collective—a space for women to untangle the stories that have bound them, to step into a new narrative that allows for light, dark, and everything in between.
We are all radiant beings, whether we realize it or not. But that radiance is multifaceted. It’s not just sunshine and glitter. It’s the grit, the pain, the doubt, and the courage to show up anyway. It’s the light and the dark, in perfect balance. And when we allow ourselves to embrace both sides, we untether ourselves from the stories that keep us stuck. We begin to write a new chapter. One that feels more like home. One that feels more like us.
Your Story
So, I gently ask you—what story have you been telling yourself? Where did it begin? Is it lifting you up, or holding you back? If staying tight in the bud is starting to feel too painful, maybe it’s time to rewrite that narrative. Time to let your full radiance, your 50/50 blend of light and shadow, shine through.
As Brianna Wiest says, “Life doesn’t happen to you. It’s unfolding from you.”
Some of the incredible women in this second cohort of the WEvolve Collective are returning for another round. Click on the 2 minute share below via Youtube. Yes, we’ll be mucking out stables, releasing old, hidden stories, and sharing a whole lot of love as we rediscover ourselves.
If this resonates with you, contact me to learn more and get on the waitlist.
See you next week. If you enjoyed this read, please invite your friends.
In your corner,
With love,
Hope