When I was little, my family shared all sorts of stories about my parents. I don’t remember most of them, so I can’t really say if they were true.

And if people sometimes stretch the truth — and we all do — how can I ever know what really happened?

Even with all the unanswered questions, I’ve found peace in letting go of the need for certainty.

It’s not indifference; it’s acceptance.

Some parts of life aren’t meant to be explained, and I’m at ease with that truth.

“Don’t believe everything you think.”

Simple words, yet profoundly true.

Our minds borrow voices from the world — from people, headlines, fears, and memories.

Even the thoughts we call our own can disguise themselves as truth when really they’re just the mind’s way of keeping peace within its own chaos.

A well-told story doesn’t have to be true for people to believe it — it just has to sound convincing.

The same goes for the stories we tell ourselves; if they’re good enough, we rarely stop to question them.

We have a way of conveniently ignoring the warning signs when we want something badly enough.

It’s how we convince ourselves that buying a car beyond our means is “a smart investment,” or that someone is right for us simply because they check all the boxes on a list.

In doing so, we often deceive ourselves — a reminder of why it’s wise not to believe everything we think.

And if we question what others say and even doubt our own thoughts, then what’s left to believe?

Feelings?

Not exactly. They matter, but they’re not reliable measures of truth. Feelings change quickly and sometimes lie outright. I’ve felt rejected when I wasn’t, unworthy when I was struggling, and incapable right up until I succeeded. If thoughts are taken with a grain of salt, emotions might need an entire spoonful.

Whenever doubt whispers that we’re less than we are, that’s our cue to correct the story.

Beneath that noise lives the truth: we are capable, radiant, blessed, and unbreakably strong.

The cruel commentary?

Just the echo of a restless mind pretending to know better.

Since our thoughts can be unreliable, other people’s words are often colored by bias, and feelings aren’t facts, what’s left is our own direct experience. That’s the one thing we can genuinely trust. We don’t need anyone to convince us of what we’ve lived ourselves.

The real challenge is separating the raw experience from the stories, emotions, and memories we’ve attached to it — because only the experience itself is pure; everything else is interpretation. I lean on photographs to anchor my sense of what was real. They show me places and faces that memory has long let go of.

I know I was there, even if the moment left no trace — maybe because I was too young, or because I’d already learned how to disappear without leaving.

If something real can leave us unaffected, then something unreal can just as easily alter us.

And perhaps that’s the most accurate insight of all: our lives are shaped less by what happens to us and more by the stories our minds choose to tell.