The Power of Shifting Perspective: Finding New Ways to Tell Restricting Stories

For years, I lived inside the shadow of my own story, trapped in the weight of what could have been. My mind replayed the should haves and if onlys, keeping me tethered to a past I could not rewrite. I existed in a space where regret held more presence than the life unfolding around me. I barely touched the ground long enough to notice the beauty in front of me. My story didn’t hold me with warmth; it held me still. The thought of shifting my perspective felt like a betrayal to the suffering I’d been loyal to.

In my early years, I coped the only way I knew how: by detaching, by drifting somewhere far away from the pain. Dissociation was my refuge, a way to survive what felt unbearable. Survival came at a cost. When I finally reconnected with my past in my early twenties, I combed through every painful chapter, searching for what I had lost. I didn’t know how to step back into the present without carrying all that weight with me. I needed a new way to hold my story, one that allowed me to move forward instead of circling endlessly through what had already been.

The Power of Rewriting the Narrative

The shift didn’t happen all at once. It began with small, intentional choices. Changing the way I spoke about my experiences, the way I framed my pain, and the way I made space for hope alongside the hardship. I started to understand that the way we tell our stories has the power to either free us or keep us bound.

This wasn’t about pretending my struggles didn’t happen. Neither was it about glossing over pain nor forcing myself into toxic positivity. It was about acknowledging my story in a way that allowed me to grow from it rather than be buried beneath it. Reframing the language by bringing the past into the present in ways that highlighted the gifts I got from the pain in the past empowered me to see myself for who I am now and not just a sum of my past experiences. It helped me learn to create the life I wanted to live now. When I softened the way I held my past, I found more clarity, more peace, and more room to breathe.

This is still a work in progress. There are days I regress, days when I curl into myself, when I feel the weight of old wounds pressing down, when I cry for the little girl inside me who once felt so lost. The difference now is that I don’t fear those moments. I don’t see it as something to want to numb or escape but as information that I could sit with and allow to teach me. Reframe what no longer aligns and heal; take care of the parts that still hurt. 

Why Changing Our Perspective Matters

For years, I held my story in my hands like a fragile thing, turning it over and over, tracing the jagged edges of every painful moment. I told it the way I had always known it. Through the lens of what was taken, what was broken, and what was lost. I believed that to honor my story, I had to stay inside of it, replaying the hardest parts until they became the only parts.

There, however, comes a point when retelling turns into reliving. When the past stops being a chapter and becomes the whole book. When the story keeps you in one place instead of guiding you somewhere new.

I used to think shifting perspective meant denying what happened, softening the truth, or pretending that pain wasn’t real. I’ve learned that it’s not about rewriting history. It’s about choosing how I carry it. It’s about allowing the weight of my experiences to shape me without burying me.

I can still honor my pain while also honoring my strength. Acknowledge loss while also making space for what’s left. Choose to see the roads I’ve walked not just as a map of suffering but as a testament to survival.

Changing the way we hold our stories doesn’t mean forgetting. It means making room for growth, for healing, for the possibility of something more.

How to Begin Cultivating a New Perspective

Notice the words you use

Do they build a wall around you, keeping you inside the hardest parts? Or do they offer a door, a way forward? The way we speak about our past shapes the way we carry it.

Instead of saying, “I wasted so many years being stuck,” this might lift the heaviness: “I spent years surviving the best way I knew how, and now I am choosing something different.”

Notice how the weight of the first sentence presses down on you, making it feel as though the past had been nothing but lost time. Empty, unredeemable. When you soften the words, the heaviness lifts.

The past will not change, but the way you hold it will. The years weren’t wasted; they were part of becoming. The words you choose give you room to move forward rather than keeping you bound to regret.

Pay attention to the language you use when you speak about your past. Do your words make your experiences feel like a life sentence, or do they give you space to grow? Sometimes, all it takes is a small shift in phrasing to turn a wall into a door.

Reframe but don’t erase

There’s a fine line between rewriting our past and reshaping the way we hold it. Reframing isn’t about pretending the pain wasn’t real; it’s about giving it context, about making space for both the struggle and the growth.

Instead of saying, “I failed,”. These words feel final. You may shift the phrasing. “I learned something valuable.” This experience does not mark you as incapable; it becomes part of your becoming.

Instead of “I was broken,” try “I found ways to rebuild.” Instead of “I lost so much time,” try “I took the time I needed to survive.”

The past will always be the past, but the way we choose to hold it determines how much weight it carries. Reframing doesn’t mean denying what happened; it means allowing space for what came next. How you kept going, how you are still here, still learning, still finding ways to build something new. 

 Give yourself permission to hold both

Healing isn’t about choosing between pain and strength. It’s about making space for both. You can acknowledge the weight of what you’ve been through without letting it be the only thing that defines you. Your hardships are part of your story, but they are not the whole story.

Instead of saying, “I’m still struggling, so I must not be healing,” try “I’m learning to carry my struggles differently while still growing.” One version keeps you stuck in the belief that healing is an all-or-nothing process. The other recognizes that progress isn’t about erasing pain; it’s about learning to hold it with more compassion.

You are allowed to grieve what was lost and still find joy in what remains. You can be strong and still need rest. You can carry sadness and still make room for hope. None of it cancels the other out. Healing happens when we learn to hold both without shame, without rush, without the need to be anything other than human.

Write a new chapter

The past does not have to be the final word. Even if it was painful, even if it held more struggle than ease, there is always room to shape what comes next. The story is still unfolding, and there is power in choosing how to tell it moving forward.

Instead of saying, “This is just who I am, I’ll always be this way,” try, “I am learning, growing, and becoming someone who chooses differently.” One version keeps the past as a fixed destination, while the other allows space for transformation.

The past may have shaped you, but it does not have to define you. Every choice, every shift in perspective, and every small step toward something new is a sentence in the next chapter. What story will you tell from here? 

Shifting the Narrative in Everyday Life

Reframing our past is powerful, but the way we hold our stories isn’t just about what has already happened. It’s about the stories we tell ourselves in the present, the way we interpret what’s unfolding right now.

There are moments when the weight of an experience feels heavy before we’ve even had time to process it. A conversation that leaves us unsettled. A setback that stirs old fears. A mistake that makes us question our worth. In these moments, it’s easy to slip into old narratives. The ones that tell us we are failing, that nothing is changing, that we are the same person we were before. Just like we can reframe the past, we can choose how we name the present.

Instead of, “I ruined everything,” try, “I made a mistake, and I can learn from it.”
Instead of, “They must think I’m incapable,” try, “I don’t know how they feel, but I can choose to be kind to myself.”
Instead of, “This always happens to me,” try, “This is a hard moment, but it does not define me.”

The way we hold our daily experiences shapes the way we move through life. When we shift our perspective, we open up more space for ease, self-compassion, and hope. We remind ourselves that we are allowed to be in progress. That we are always becoming.

In closing

Our stories are always shifting, always unfolding. We are not bound to the versions of ourselves that once felt stuck, lost, or broken. Every time we choose to see our past with more tenderness, every time we soften the words we use to hold our experiences, we carve a new path forward. Not one that erases what has been, but one that allows for growth, for healing, for something more. The past will always be a part of us, but it does not have to be the weight that holds us down. It can be the foundation we build upon, the place from which we rise.

Disclaimer: I am not a medical or mental health professional; I am simply someone navigating this journey alongside you. Everything shared here comes from personal experience and what has helped me, but it’s not a replacement for professional support. If you’re struggling, please seek guidance from a qualified professional.

This space is never about diminishing anyone’s experience. Your feelings, struggles, and healing process are authentic and valid. I hope to offer mindset shifts and foster inclusion, and we transform daily overwhelm into moments of peace together.