The most dangerous stories are not always the ones handed to us. Sometimes they are the ones we keep writing ourselves.
Someone asked me to speak at a conference. My immediate response was: I'm busy that day. They paused and said — I haven't given you the date yet.
I stopped.
Not because I was embarrassed. Because I recognized something.
That was not the first time.
It was one of many.
Many times I had been busy for dates that didn't exist yet. Many times I had said no before the question was fully formed. Many times I had made myself unavailable for things that hadn't even been offered.
The story was so practiced it didn't need facts to run. It just ran.
This is what an automatic story does.
The most unsettling part?
I knew I could do it.
What I have learned over time is that my anxiety is not the enemy of my presence. It is the superpower behind it.
The version of me that walks into the room after the pause — she surprises even me.
The story wasn't about capability. I am a very confident speaker.
I know how to be present. I know how to 'work the room.'
Capability was not the issue.
It was running on something else entirely.
Most of us are not stuck because we don't know.
We are stuck because of what we tell ourselves about what we know.
I know I am capable — but who am I to put myself forward. I know this matters — but now is not the right time. I know I have something to say — but what if it is not enough. I know I am ready — but let me wait until I am more ready.
And then even more ready still.
The knowing is there. The story sits on top of it.
And the story sounds so reasonable.
So responsible.
So measured.
It sounds like wisdom.
Right.
The most sophisticated form of staying small.
I knew I could speak at that conference. I knew I had something worth saying. I knew I could easily do what I was asked to do.
Trained to do actually.
Yet
The story still said—busy.
Busy was safe. Busy meant I didn't have to show up fully. Busy meant I didn't have to find out what would happen if I did.
That is the story worth examining. When the story runs unchecked it makes decisions on your behalf. It declines invitations you would have wanted. It shrinks from rooms you belonged in. It keeps you preparing for a moment you keep making unavailable.
Let me say again: It keeps you preparing for a moment you keep making unavailable.
It sounds reasonable — busy, not ready, not the right time. You rarely question it. You just live inside it.
Until one day someone tells you they haven't given you the date yet.
And you realize the story has been running without you.
At that moment I made a decision.
A decision that changed everything.
Before my automatic response — I would pause. Not a long pause. Not a complicated pause.
Just enough space to ask:
Is this true? Am I actually busy? Am I actually ready?
What am I telling myself?
What are you telling yourself?
The pause belongs to you.
What story are you ready to stop telling yourself?
Sawubona