Which woman gets to live?
Now before you start planning a funeral, let me explain.
For a while, I had created two versions of myself in my mind.
There was the old me.
And there was the new me.
The old me had struggled.
The old me had made mistakes.
The old me had made choices I wasn't always proud of.
The old me had survived things.
Carried things.
Accepted things.
Believed things.
And then there was this new me.
Oh, baby, the new me was supposed to have it all together.
She had lost the weight.
She was stronger.
She knew better.
She was going to make better choices.
She was going to thrive.
She wasn't going to repeat old patterns.
She certainly wasn't going back to being that woman.
Except there was one little problem.
I was both of them.
The woman standing in this changing body was still the woman who had lived that other life.
Same history.
Same memories.
Same experiences.
Same mistakes.
Same strengths.
Same scars.
I didn't get a brand-new past because I had a new body.
And I didn't suddenly become a completely different person because the number on the scale changed.
That created a problem for me.
Because I had spent so much time thinking about who I didn't want to be anymore that I hadn't really considered what I was supposed to do with the woman I had been.
Where was she supposed to go?
Was I supposed to hate her?
Be embarrassed by her?
Pretend she never existed?
Punish her forever for every decision she made when she didn't know what she knows now?
Was becoming someone new supposed to require rejecting who I had been?
For a while, it felt like it.
Until I started looking at the evidence differently.
Me vs. Me Became Me AND Me Something began changing when I realized there was more in me than I originally thought.
I wasn't starting from zero.
I wasn't a woman with no discipline.
No persistence.
No ability to prepare.
No ability to follow through.
The evidence didn't support that.
There had been strength in me all along.
And once I could see that, something else began to soften.
I wasn't as angry with the old me anymore.
Because I started realizing that the woman I had been wasn't simply a collection of bad decisions that needed to be erased.
She had been working with what she knew.
She had been carrying what she knew how to carry.
She had developed strengths.
She had survived.
She had figured things out.
She had made mistakes too.
Both things could be true.
And my love for that previous version of myself didn't make me want to excuse everything she had done.
It made me want to find a way to heal her,
not kill her.
That was different.
Because me versus me had kept me fighting myself.
But maybe this didn't have to be:
Me vs. me.
Maybe it could become:
Me AND me.
Not because every version of me needed to stay exactly the same.
Not because every behavior needed to be carried forward.
Not because everything I had done was healthy,
helpful, or right.
But because I didn't have to destroy myself in order to correct myself.
I could take responsibility without turning responsibility into a weapon.
And that changed the way I began looking at my own evidence.
We Don't Kill Her. We Heal Her.
There is a difference between saying:
“I did something that needs to change.”
and:
“There is something wrong with me.”
Those statements may sound similar when you're used to talking to yourself a certain way.
They are not.
One gives you information.
The other gives you an identity.
One says:
Something happened. Let's look at it.
The other says:
Something happened. Therefore, this is who I am.
That's a dangerous jump.
And we make it fast.
“I didn't follow through.”
becomes:
“I never follow through.”
“I ate differently than I planned.”
becomes:
“I have no self-control.”
“I gained some weight back.”
becomes:
“I ruined everything.”
See what happened?
We started with evidence.
Then somewhere between what happened and what we said about what happened, we turned the evidence into an identity.
And once something becomes an identity, it becomes much harder to investigate.
Because now we're no longer examining a behavior.
We're defending a conclusion about ourselves.
That's why self-forgiveness matters here.
Not because forgiveness means pretending something didn't happen.
Not because forgiveness removes responsibility.
And not because we're going to stand around saying, “Everything I did was fine.”
No.
Forgiveness allows me to look at what happened without needing to hate the person I'm looking at.
Taking responsibility for what the old me did did not require me to hate her.
I could acknowledge it.
Learn from it.
Correct it.
And still love the woman who had to learn the lesson.
That's what allowed me to start reading the receipts differently.
Maybe We Need to Examine the Evidence Let me tell you something about the courtroom some of us have been running in our heads.
Baby, we have been serving as prosecutor, witness,
judge, jury, and sometimes bailiff.
And somehow the verdict is already written before the evidence even gets presented.
You missed something?
Guilty.
You struggled?
Guilty.
You made a choice you regret?
Oh, we got a case now.
Guilty.
But maybe before we sentence the defendant, we need to examine the evidence.
Because what actually happened may not prove what you've decided it proves.
Let me show you.
Suppose you planned to take a walk after work three days this week.
Monday, you did it.
Wednesday, you worked late and didn't.
Friday, you got home exhausted and sat on the couch instead.
The evidence is:
You walked one of the three days you planned.
That's what happened.
But your identity statement might be:
“See? I can never stay consistent.”
Wait a minute.
Does the evidence actually prove that?
Or does the evidence tell us something else?
Maybe Wednesday's work schedule affected the plan.
Maybe Friday's exhaustion is information we need.
Maybe the time you chose isn't realistic on certain days.
Maybe you need a backup option.
Maybe there is something happening between leaving work and getting home that we need to understand.
We don't know yet.
And that's okay.
Because:
“I walked one of the three days I planned”
gives us something we can investigate.
“I'm just inconsistent”
sounds like the case is closed.
That's why I want you to learn how to separate evidence from identity.
Evidence or Identity?™ We're going to practice.
Think about one recent moment connected to your wellbeing where you were disappointed in yourself.
Not the biggest mistake you've ever made.
We are not digging up your entire life today.
One moment.
One situation.
One receipt.
And we're going to look at it without immediately turning you into the defendant.
1. PRESENT THE EVIDENCE Tell me what actually happened.
Only the facts.
If a camera had recorded the situation, what would we see?
Not:
“I was lazy.”
That's an interpretation.
What did you actually do?
Not:
“I failed again.”
That's a conclusion.
What happened?
Maybe:
“I planned to prepare my lunch and didn't.”
“I skipped the appointment.”
“I stopped doing something that had been helping me.”
Whatever it is, write the event without sentencing yourself.
REFLECTION
What actually happened?
2. READ THE CHARGE Now I want you to notice what you said about yourself because it happened.
This is where we're looking for identity language.
Did you say:
“I'm lazy.”
“I have no discipline.”
“I always quit.”
“I can't be trusted.”
“I ruin everything.”
Or maybe your words were different.
Write down the charge.
What did I decide this situation meant about me?
Now look at those two answers.
The first one tells us what happened.
The second one tells us what you decided what happened meant about who you are.
Those are not automatically the same thing.
3. EXAMINE THE EVIDENCE Now we're going to do something we don't always do before handing ourselves a verdict.
We're going to examine the evidence.
Ask:
Does this one event actually prove the identity statement I made?
What other evidence exists?
Is there evidence from Chapter 1 that contradicts the charge?
If you wrote, “I'm not disciplined,” where have you already demonstrated discipline?
If you wrote, “I never follow through,” where have you followed through?
If you wrote, “I ruin everything,” what have you built, maintained, repaired, protected, or returned to?
Remember—we want receipts.
Not positive thinking.
Not pretending.
Evidence.
What evidence supports what actually happened—and what evidence challenges the identity verdict I gave myself?
4. FIND THE USEFUL INFORMATION Now that we've separated the event from the identity verdict, we can ask a much better question:
What can this situation teach me?
Maybe you need more preparation.
Maybe the plan wasn't realistic.
Maybe you underestimated how tired you would be.
Maybe you need support.
Maybe you need a different strategy.
Maybe you made a choice you don't want to repeat.
We don't have to know the entire solution yet.
We're going to learn how to investigate patterns more deeply.
Right now, we're simply asking:
What useful information can I take from what happened?
Notice how different that feels from:
“What's wrong with me?”
One question creates condemnation.
The other creates information.
And information gives us something to work with.
5. ADJOURN THE COURT Now comes the part some of us are not very good at.
Baby, you have to let yourself leave the courtroom.
There comes a point when the evidence has been presented.
The lesson has been identified.
The correction can be made.
You don't have to keep retrying the same case every night before bed.
You don't have to bring up seventeen exhibits from 2008.
You don't have to call witnesses from your childhood.
We said we're not doing the whole identity-healing book in Chapter 2.
We're dealing with this receipt.
So ask yourself:
What is the next useful action available to me now?
Take the action.
Make the correction.
Carry the information forward.
And then:
Court is adjourned.
Ma'am.
Sir.
You are free to go.
Responsibility Without Condemnation I want to be clear about something.
This is not about removing accountability.
Actually, I believe this gives us a better way to practice accountability.
Because condemnation tends to make everything about who you are.
Investigation allows you to look at what you're doing.
And if something you're doing isn't working, we need to be able to see it clearly enough to change it.
I can say:
“I made that choice.”
“I don't like the result.”
“I need to do something differently.”
“I need support here.”
without adding:
“Therefore, I am a terrible person.”
Correction doesn't require condemnation.
Responsibility doesn't require self-rejection.
And growth doesn't require you to hate the person who still has growing to do.
When I stopped treating myself like the enemy, I could finally become curious about what was actually happening.
And that curiosity matters.
Because sometimes something happens once.
Sometimes it keeps happening.
And when it keeps happening, we need to know how to look at it without immediately reaching for another verdict.
We need to notice when it happens.
What happens before it.
What happens around it.
Where it changes.
Where it doesn't.
Not so we can prosecute ourselves better.
So we can understand ourselves better.
Because if we're going to change something intentionally, first we have to be willing to see it clearly.
And for that?
Baby, we're going to need some light.
Ready to put this chapter to work?