Systems of the Soul
Voices We Carry
During my healing, I discovered the root of a childhood wound.
When I was in the fifth grade, I asked a girl to go to the dance with me.
She said “No” in the nicest tone possible — a kind, easy letdown.
But as I turned away, I overheard her whisper to her friends:
“Why do all the ugly boys have to ask me out?”
Laughter followed.
That moment still plays in my mind as clearly as if it were recorded.
It haunts me even now, at forty.
Since then, people have told me I’m attractive — so why do their words not outweigh those of a ten-year-old girl?
I’ve endured greater pain and forgotten it easily.
Why does this one remain?
That single comment became more than a memory — it became a script.
And like many of us, I didn’t realize I was still acting it out decades later.
Can you remember a time when someone made you feel small, unwanted, unloved, or disrespected?
Can you still picture their face? Hear their words? Feel it as if it’s happening again?
It’s important first to identify those feelings — as close to the root as you can get.
Then remember: you choose how you respond to every moment.
Stoics call it self-authorship — the art of writing your own story.
You let go of what you cannot control — allow life to unfold as it will —
and focus on the few things you can: your thoughts, your emotions, your actions.
The more you entertain negative thoughts and emotions,
the darker the story becomes.
You always have the power to place a period on the page.
To start a new chapter, or keep rewriting the same one.
Through mindfulness — the practice of pausing, breathing, and letting a moment wash over you —
we gain control of the next moment.
Mindfulness isn’t about emptying the mind; it’s about noticing the space between what happens and how we react.
That single pause is where peace hides.
We cannot stop insults, loss, or heartbreak from occurring,
but we can choose what we do with those moments.
We can amplify the pain, or change the song entirely.
An insult is a reflection of someone else’s story — not ours.
No one lives forever, which is precisely why each moment matters.
Life will always throw difficulties our way.
We choose whether to become enslaved to them, or free ourselves through them.
That doesn’t mean we must accept repeated harm,
or suppress what we feel.
It means we decide what the lesson will become —
a burden we carry, or a blessing that helps us rise.
How many times did I decide not to ask another girl out? I lost count.
I didn’t have a girlfriend in school because I believed I was unworthy of love —
all because of something a ten-year-old said.
I allowed that single moment to define much of my adolescence and early adulthood.
She wasn’t worth the time and investment my mind spent protecting me from that pain.
No offense, if somehow you read this and remember — but you weren’t.
And neither are the voices you’re holding onto.
Every time you replay those moments,
you give them more control over your present and future.
You grant them authorship over a story that belongs only to you.
It’s time to take back the pen.
To shape your own memoir, and stop letting others write your lines.
When you really listen to the fears and voices that whisper you’re not enough,
ask yourself — are they truly yours?
Most of the noise in an unquiet mind isn’t our own.
It’s the echo of others’ opinions, judgments, and insecurities.
No person believes they are ugly or stupid until someone tells them so.
No one feels unworthy until they’re treated that way.
No child thinks they are unlovable — they learn it from how love is withheld.
How many voices do you carry?
And how many are your own?
The next time those voices rise, imagine your own saying back:
I am worthy.
I am beautiful.
I am loved.
Whatever lie the voice repeats, confront it with truth — even if you don’t believe it yet.
In time, belief follows repetition.
Once you begin writing the story you want to live,
the rest of the world slowly adapts to that script.
Your being starts to embody those new words,
and soon you won’t need the old ones at all.
Never allow others to write your story for you.
Grabbing the root of the issue takes time and practice.
I carried that childhood wound so long it felt like truth, despite evidence to the contrary.
It wasn’t until I practiced mindfulness —
catching the moment as it replayed — that I finally saw it for what it was.
In that space, I could face my younger self — talk to him, forgive him, remind him of his worth.
We all have that ability, if we practice it:
to face our younger selves,
to forgive, accept, and heal from the things that chase us through life.
The important part is acknowledging those feelings and validating them.
We’re allowed to feel pain, jealousy, shame, anger —
we just don’t have to let them control the story.
Treat them as lines you can choose to rewrite.
You always have that choice.
When those memories resurface,
try writing a letter to your past self — one you can revisit, revise, or expand when needed.
Here’s mine:
Big Zach to Little Zach
She doesn’t have to think you’re good-looking — and you shouldn’t care who does.
There are so many things more important than appearance,
and she doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of your life.
You are an amazing person, worthy of love and respect.
You have a kind heart and a strength that will always be sought after,
despite the ugliness of one careless moment.
That doesn’t make you unworthy of true love.
One day you’ll hold yourself together for your kids and prove
that love, in its truest form, was never lost in you.
That is beauty. That is strength.
And in my mind, I could see a weight lifted from his shoulders.
—
Let it go.
The next time you hear an echo — or even a new voice — remind yourself that you are in control of the story.
You decide what emotions carry into the next moment.
You decide how to respond to every situation.
If you don’t like the chapter you’re in, stop writing a story you don’t like.
Every day, we are all rewriting something —
sometimes a sentence, sometimes a lifetime.
The question is: who’s holding the pen today? If the answer isn’t you — why?