I wasn’t sure I was going to post this. Writing it made me feel vulnerable, and for a while I thought about keeping it to myself. But then I realized—that’s often the space where we learn something about ourselves.
If my story could help even one person, then it was worth putting out there. If even one reader could see that the stories we tell ourselves color our vision of reality—and that those stories can be reframed into something new—then maybe it would help.
So here it is.
I won’t pretend I’ve figured out all the stories I’ve told myself, or that it’s even possible to do so. But I can say that the effort is worth it. Every time we hold up an old narrative to the light, we see it more clearly. Sometimes we realize it sheltered us when we needed it. Other times we realize it became a cage.
For me, these memories aren’t baggage. They’re more like old files—kept too long, stacked in dusty folders, cluttering the corners of the mind. Eventually they grow heavy. They take up space. They limit what you can imagine for yourself.
When the Story Holds the Key grew from one of those files. A childhood memory I carried for decades, convinced it had made me strong. It had, in part. But it had also kept me isolated. This zine is about that strange double edge—the way a story can both protect and confine, and how the moment we recognize it, we can begin to unlock the life waiting beyond it.
You can read it online on Substack, or download printable versions below to share, fold, or stash in your backpack for quiet reflection.
Please don’t forget to download the printing instructions, as well.
