“We are not what happened to us. We are what we do with it.” — James Hollis

If there’s one truth I’ve wrestled with again and again, it’s this.

Because what happened to me still lives in my body.
Still echoes in my dreams.
Still shapes the way I brace for rejection, the way I crave closeness and fear it at the same time.

But Hollis reminds me that the past isn’t the end of the story.
It’s the opening chapter.

And every day, I’m writing the next one —

  • when I set a boundary instead of staying silent,
  • when I choose solitude over unhealthy attachment,
  • when I stop chasing approval and start standing in my truth.

That doesn’t mean I’m “over” the pain.
It means I’m living forward, instead of being pulled backward.

There’s something deeply empowering about that.
Not in a shout-it-from-the-rooftops kind of way.
But in a quiet, grounded way — the kind that says:

“Yes, that happened. Yes, it shaped me. And I’m still here, shaping myself back.”

This chapter feels like a deep exhale.
A reminder that I’m not broken — just becoming.

Reflection Prompt:
What part of my past still tries to define me?
And what small act today could reclaim that story as mine?