The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Lately I’ve been reading the philosopher Ken Wilber, and his ideas about growth, integration, and wholeness have been quietly working on me. As I’ve reflected on my own life, I’ve started to see my experiences—and the stories I tell myself about them—through a different lens. There’s so much of his work that resonates and has inspired me to take a deeper look at the way I see the world.  Some of his thoughts have inspired me to share the following:

The story of our life begins the moment we take our first breath. We are shaped by every experience, every thought, every feeling. By every interaction… from the smallest event to the most life‑altering moments. We are the products of a culmination of events, and those events shape who we are and how we see the world.

As we grow and develop, the shadows of these experiences follow us. They guide our decision-making. They influence how we interpret our interactions, our conversations, our emotions.

When we process our experiences thoughtfully, we learn; we grow; we integrate and evolve. These stories make us richer, more dynamic, and more confident in who we are and how we share ourselves with the world. They allow us to see life more vibrantly. Even when not all of our stories are happy, we can still notice the subtle beauty that surrounds us. Whether in our relationships or in our environment, we begin to feel more moments of gratitude and presence. We have a greater capacity to stop and smell the roses.

Ken Wilber reminds us that “no perspective is wrong, but some are more partial than others. Growth is the process of moving from less inclusive to more inclusive perspectives.” When we work with our experiences instead of pushing them away, our perspective widens, and life itself becomes more spacious and alive.

On the other hand, when we struggle to process our experiences, it becomes harder to let go of the feeling, the story, or the event. Parts of us can feel fractured and disconnected from the present. It can feel as if a piece of us is stuck reliving the experience over and over, while the rest of us keeps moving forward. We feel divided and lack a sense of wholeness.

Life becomes disjointed, like looking through a broken windowpane. The part of us that’s stuck begins to shape the way we interpret everything. It can cause us to misread situations or conversations. It can make us lash out unnecessarily, cut ourselves off from people and new experiences, and keep circling back to the emotions of the past.

Depending on the experience we haven’t yet moved through, we might become stuck wishing for “the good old days,” or trapped in our pain and suffering. Either way, our present world becomes muted. We start to see life in shades of grey. Our days feel less rich, less alive—dull and lackluster, or saturated with fear and worry.

Wilber writes, “Whatever we repress we are destined to meet again, as fate.” Those unprocessed stories don’t just disappear; they keep showing up in our reactions, our relationships, and the way we see ourselves.

I’ve had several mentors over the years who have helped me examine the places where I’ve been stuck—the experiences that left me feeling separate and unable to be fully present. I’ve lived through seasons when the world felt grey and filled with fear, but I’ve also tasted the joy of presence: that sense of wholeness when the broken bits of my life begin to integrate and heal.

Ken Wilber talks about evolving and integrating, about weaving all the pieces of our lives together like a rich tapestry. He reminds us that “growing up doesn’t mean leaving anything behind; it means including more and more of who you are in a larger and more coherent embrace.”

Releasing our stories doesn’t mean we forget the pivotal moments that left a lasting impression. It means we let them in, let them become part of us. We stop fighting to forget or to get back to who we were “before,” and instead we turn toward our experience with honesty and compassion.

We take responsibility where we can. We do our best to learn from everything—the good and the bad. Our stories have shaped us, but they don’t have to define who we choose to become. They don’t have to be the only lens through which we see the world.

Our brains are a beautiful gift: we can self-reflect, self-govern, and actively choose who we want to be and how we want to see life. As Wilber puts it, “I can view my thoughts and experiences; therefore, I am not just my thoughts and experiences. I am the one who is aware of them.” From that awareness, new choices become possible.

It’s not an easy journey to release and let go, especially when holding on can feel safer than stepping into the unknown. For me, the turning point came when my stories became more unbearable than the thought of trying to release them. But we don’t have to wait until life feels that painful or that small.

We can begin with little practices. We can pause when we feel emotionally triggered and gently ask ourselves whether what’s upsetting us is truly what’s happening—or an interpretation shaped by our past. We can notice the familiar inner monologue and ask, “Is this real, or is this a story I’m telling myself?”

Each time we ask that question, we create a tiny opening—a bit of space between who we are and what we’ve lived through. In that space, something new becomes possible. We can respond instead of react. We can choose curiosity instead of certainty. We can honour our history without being imprisoned by it.

Over time, those small moments of awareness begin to weave the scattered pieces of us back together. The broken windowpane clears, and colour slowly returns to our world. We remember that we are not just the stories we’ve survived, but the storyteller who can reinterpret, integrate, and evolve them.

Wilber says, “The only place the timeless ever shows up is in this present moment.” As we integrate our past, we become more fully available to this moment—right here, right now—where life is actually happening.

And from that place of wholeness, we can write the next chapter of our lives with a little more freedom, a little more compassion, and a lot more presence.

-B