Big Girl Panties Diaries - Entry #18: That’s Not the Truth—It’s Just the Story I’m Telling Myself

I often wonder if other people see me the way I see myself.

You glance in the mirror expecting confidence, capability, maybe even a little sparkle—and instead you’re met with someone else entirely. Someone who looks exhausted. Hesitant. Not quite enough.

And the hardest part? That reflection starts talking.

Not out loud, of course—but in the quiet commentary only you can hear. And some days, it tells a story that isn’t kind. Or true. Or helpful.

Maybe it’s trying to protect you. Maybe it’s avoiding something hard. Maybe it’s just anxiety—dressed up like logic—narrating the worst before anything even happens.

Because anxiety doesn’t need facts. It just needs a whisper of doubt. And suddenly, you’re rewriting the entire scene in your head, starring as the problem.

We don’t just talk to ourselves—we narrate. And that narrator? She’s not calm. She’s catastrophizing in real time:

Let me introduce you to one of the most exhausting authors I know: my brain.

Because let’s be honest—our brains almost always go to the worst imaginable place. We expend so much energy preparing for “what ifs,” playing out every possible rejection, awkward interaction, or catastrophic failure like we’re directing a psychological thriller in our own heads.

I’ve talked about this before in I Threw Potatoes at Leaders (and Other Ways We Panic During Change). Anxiety makes us cling to preparation like it’s control. We plan for disaster so we won’t be surprised when it shows up—except most of the time, it doesn’t.

But that doesn’t stop us from scripting the scene anyway. When we don’t know the full story, we make one up. And your inner narrator—well, she loves a dramatic plot twist.

I’ve done it more times than I can count. Like the time I didn’t hear back after a job interview and convinced myself I was clearly unqualified. Turns out the hiring manager had a family emergency. Or the friend who didn’t respond to my invite—I assumed I said something wrong. Nope. She was overwhelmed and barely responding to anyone. And the list goes on...

In both cases, I had to remind myself of something I’m still learning:

It’s not about me.

Most of the time, it’s not personal. It’s circumstance. Timing. Chaos. Life.

But anxiety doesn’t want that answer. It wants certainty. So it fills the space with stories—ones that feel protective, but actually just keep us spinning.

And yes—those stories can be exhausting. But they’re not random. Our brains aren’t trying to sabotage us. They’re trying to protect us. That inner narrator means well—it’s just overworked, under-resourced, and still healing from old wounds.

Sometimes anxiety isn’t irrational—it’s just scared.

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Here’s the kicker:

We don’t just tell ourselves these stories. We start to believe them. We act on them. And then we call it being “realistic.”

But that’s not realism. That’s rumination wrapped in insecurity. It’s emotional Mad Libs with worst-case-scenario bias.

So I’ve started asking myself one question:

Is this actually true… or just the story I’m telling myself?

It’s uncomfortable at first. But powerful. Because here’s what I’ve learned: most people aren’t thinking about me as much as I think they are. They’re living in their own stories. We all are.

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And this shows up at work, too:

Silence from leadership? Must mean something bad is coming. A short email? They’re probably mad. Not included in the meeting? I must not matter.

People fill in the blanks. And if leaders aren’t clear, we write our own scripts—and they’re usually worse.

So now I pause.

I’ve learned to do a gut check:

• Did they actually say that?

• Or am I filling in the blanks with fear?

• Is this my intuition—or my anxiety trying to protect me?

And if I’m not sure, I name the story and rewrite the ending. Better yet—I phone a friend who will lovingly call BS on my worst-case thinking.

Some days my narrator sounds like an underpaid tabloid writer chasing drama. Other days, she’s a dramatic tween with smudged eyeliner and a flair for overreacting. But most days? She’s just my anxiety, trying to keep me “safe” by keeping me on edge.

Instead, I give her a break. I take a breath. And I write a new draft.

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Big Girl Panties Diaries Rules for Anxious Storytelling:

1. Don’t believe everything your brain scripts at 2 a.m.

2. If it feels personal, ask: What else could be true?

3. Rewrite. Reframe. Repeat.

4. The plot twist might be… it’s not about you.

5. Your anxiety isn’t the enemy—it’s just not a great narrator.

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And when I look in the mirror now, I still see a tired woman some days. But I also see someone brave enough to question the script. To rewrite the scene. To step out of the anxiety spiral and back into the truth.

#BigGirlPantiesDiaries #Anxiety #SelfAwareness #Leadership #MentalHealth #Reframe #Resilience #EmotionalIntelligence #Changeleadership