The Backpack of Other People’s Stories

For the longest time, I thought my past was like one of those overstuffed carry-on bags—you know, the kind you have to sit on just to zip up. I dragged it everywhere. Into jobs, relationships, even the cereal aisle at Target. It was like TSA was going to flag me if I dared set it down.

And here’s the kicker. Half the stuff in that bag wasn’t even mine. I was basically running a lost-and-found of other people’s opinions. My dad’s “play it safe.” My mom’s “don’t rock the boat.” That one teacher’s “you’ll never make it if you keep daydreaming.” And my personal favorite from an ex: “you’re just too much.” (Spoiler: too much for her maybe, not too much for life.)

The bag got heavy. Every new opportunity, every step forward—I’d feel that weight pulling me back, whispering “remember who you’re supposed to be.” And honestly? I bought it. I thought carrying all that junk was just part of adulthood. Like taxes or realizing spinach doesn’t actually taste good, no matter how much you blend it into a smoothie.

But here’s where it flipped. One day it hit me... what if this isn’t baggage at all? What if these are just stories? Not even my stories—other people’s fears, their projections, their limits. And what if the stories I’ve been most ashamed of are the exact ones people need to hear?

Because let’s be real. Nobody connects with the “everything was perfect” version of us. They connect with the messy stuff. The heartbreak, the screw-ups, the “I once ate gas station sushi and deeply regretted it” moments. (Okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the idea.)

The cracks are where people see themselves in us. The parts you thought made you weak? They’re the same parts that make you relatable. That’s not baggage—that’s leverage.

So here’s my challenge to you. Grab one story you’ve been keeping zipped up in your invisible backpack. Write it down. Don’t polish it. Don’t try to make it Instagram-worthy. Just let it be messy and real.

Then ask yourself:

• What belief did this story create?

• Has that belief kept me hidden?

• Who would I be if I stopped letting that old version of me call the shots?

Because the truth is, you’re not the baggage. You’re the one who made it through. And maybe—just maybe—it’s time to stop dragging that backpack around like it owns you. Open it up. See what’s actually inside. Toss what’s not yours. And carry forward the parts that remind you of how far you’ve come.

Turns out the stuff you thought wrecked you might be the very thing that sets you apart.