She Is Me

There is a story about two wolves fighting inside of us.

One represents the things that destroy us.

The other represents the things that help us become who we were meant to be.

And when someone asks which one wins, the answer is:

The one you feed.

But I think there is a part of that story we don’t talk about enough.

What happens when an unhealthy mind was being fed long before we were old enough to understand that we were feeding it?

Before I could consciously choose what I allowed into my mind, my mind was already learning.

It learned through what I watched.

What I heard.

What was repeated.

How people responded to anger.

How conflict was handled.

What happened when someone was hurt.

What happened when nobody apologized.

What love looked like.

What rejection felt like.

What I learned about myself from the people and environments around me.

And so much of it wasn’t intentionally taught.

It was invisible learning.

I don’t believe the people before me necessarily woke up and decided to teach me unhealthy patterns.

I believe many of them learned patterns too.

And someone before them may have taught those patterns without realizing it.

That doesn’t erase harm.

It helps me understand how harm can keep traveling through generations when nobody recognizes what is being passed down.

And eventually, I began feeding it myself.

Not because I wanted to become unhealthy.

Because I didn’t know that what had become familiar inside my mind wasn’t necessarily healthy.

I carried the memories.

I replayed the hurt.

I anticipated rejection.

I held onto anger.

I defended myself.

I desperately tried to make people understand.

And the more life seemed to confirm what my mind already believed, the stronger those pathways became.

Meanwhile, there was another part of me.

I was kind.

Considerate.

Generous.

Empathetic.

I loved people deeply.

That was me too.

For years, I couldn’t understand how both versions could exist in the same person.

Eventually, the unhealthy patterns became louder.

I stopped believing I was worthy.

I stopped believing I belonged.

I could still see the person I believed existed somewhere underneath everything, but I became increasingly angry with the person I was becoming.

And eventually I couldn’t bear the thought of continuing to live as her.

In August 2024, I almost ended her life.

Her life.

Listen to those words.

Because for a long time, that was how I thought about her.

Like she was someone I needed to escape.

Someone I hated becoming.

Someone I needed to get rid of.

But by the grace of God, my story didn’t end there.

God had other plans.

And over the next two years, instead of ending her life, I began understanding it.

I went back through the memories I couldn’t seem to release—not simply to determine who was wrong, but to understand what each experience had taught my mind.

What did I learn here?

What did I begin believing there?

Why did this trigger me?

Why did rejection feel so enormous?

Why did I need to explain myself?

Why did I become defensive?

Why did anger feel safer than hurt?

Why did I keep responding in ways that didn’t match the person I knew I wanted to be?

Little by little, I began recognizing what my mind had learned.

And then I started teaching it something different.

I practiced different thoughts.

Different responses.

Different boundaries.

Different interpretations.

Different ways of handling disappointment, rejection, conflict and fear.

I stopped feeding some of the patterns that had been fed for decades.

And I began strengthening healthier ones.

I continue doing that every single day.

I am still learning.

Still catching things.

Still growing.

Still becoming healthier-minded.

And perhaps the greatest thing I’ve learned is this:

The woman whose life I wanted to end wasn’t an evil person I needed to destroy.

She was a hurting version of me who needed to be understood, held accountable, loved, and taught another way to live.

I didn’t need to get rid of her.

I needed to heal her.

She is me.

The little girl who learned it.

The woman who carried it.

The woman who almost didn’t survive it.

The woman who finally began questioning it.

The woman who learned differently.

The woman who continues learning today.

They’re all me.

And I believe God knew that even when I couldn’t see it.

I thought He needed to take me out of this life.

Instead, He helped me learn how to live it.

Shared from live experience, not expert advice