What story do you tell yourself about your life? Not your elevator pitch, not your job interview spiel. But the story, in your heart, that you’re living.

Here’s mine: I’m the daughter of an immigrant, a brown girl with a Muslim name looking to leave the world better than I found it. My dad turned his life upside down so that my brother and I had more opportunities, and I’m going to honor that. I might not be the smartest person in the room, but I’m the scrappiest. And I’m living on borrowed time.

What’s your story?

Do you like your story?

Does your story actually reflect the truth of your life?

Does your story help you grow?

Maybe it doesn’t matter that much that I’m not white; maybe that doesn’t belong in my story. And being a mom is possibly the most important thing in the world to me. Why aren’t my kids in my story? Maybe the story I started with is out of date. It’s the story I’ve been telling myself since I was 20. Maybe I need a new story.

Maybe it looks like this: I want to love my kids like my parents loved me. I’ve done some good in my life and I want to do more before I run out of time. I’m the most stubborn person in most rooms, and I’ve got a lot of empathy.

That story has a little more growth in it. Does your story have enough room to grow?

Find your story, and then decide if you’re telling yourself the right thing.