Editor's Note: We live in the stories we tell Ourselves

It was a regular day back in my days in our village —my folks were singing, and I joined in, blending my little voice into the chorus. I was just enjoying the moment.

Then, one of my sisters, who wasn’t even singing, turned to me, laughing, and said:

“You sound like a frog!”

I was shocked. Then annoyed. And then… ashamed. I knew I wasn’t Beyoncé, but come on—my alto wasn’t that bad.

Even though she may have been joking, the words stuck. They scarred me a little. Because after that episode, I shrunk. I lost something. I stopped thinking of myself as someone who could sing. I was in the church youth choir, yes—but I never dared to believe I was good enough to stand in front and carry a song.

There were too many great singers around me. And with my ego shattered at home, I didn’t stand a chance.

Then one random day, I was asked to lead a solo in church. In front of the whole congregation. A massive crowd. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to expect, but I closed my eyes and belted out the solo like my whole existence depended on it. I couldn’t see anyone. I didn’t want to. I just sang.

And when I finally opened my eyes, the entire church was on its feet—clapping, cheering. Loudly. It felt surreal. Me? Really?

I became something of an overnight sensation in my little church. On my way out, some family friends—who had just happened to attend the service for the first time—rushed to hug me. They congratulated me with such joy. And then, one of them gave me a gift. ₦30.

That 30 Naira felt like gold. I was overjoyed. But I didn’t tell my mum or anyone else.

Instead, the next day, I walked to the bookstore and bought six notebooks at 5 Naira each. I took them to Anglican Girls Grammar School registered and enrolled myself. The reason I didn't tell my mum or folks is a story for another day.

But for today, my message is to remind us all that

We live in the stories we tell ourselves. Change the story, and you change your life.

The mind is a powerful narrator. It writes the script of our lives long before we take action. The words we speak to ourselves—whether rooted in truth, fear, or memory—become the stage we perform on. We tell ourselves, “I’m not ready,” and we hold back. We say, “I always mess things up,” and subconsciously look for proof. We whisper, “This isn’t for people like me,” and shrink ourselves to fit the lie.

But here's the secret: stories can be rewritten.

When you choose a different narrative—one where you are brave, worthy, curious, healing, growing—you begin to live from that place. Your decisions shift. Your energy changes. You step into rooms differently. You speak up, you try again, you dance, you lead, you love—because you now believe that’s what your character does in this chapter.

We are not bound by the first draft of our fears. We are the authors.

And with every thought, every belief, every brave little rewrite, we get to decide how the next chapter unfolds.

So, listen closely:

What story are you telling yourself?

And is it one where you thrive?