Rewriting Your Story: Taking Back the Narrative

I used to tell my story like I was applying for something. Clean. Chronological. Easy to digest. A beginning, a middle, and a safe little bow to wrap it up.

And honestly? I got good at it.

I knew which parts to highlight, which ones to downplay. I’d talk about my education, my credentials, the work I’ve done—but I’d leave out the moments I doubted myself. The times I changed direction. The things I started that didn’t go how I planned.

And for the longest time, I started the story when I got to America.

But that’s like telling the story of Africans in the West starting with slavery. That’s not the beginning. That’s just where someone else started paying attention.

My story didn’t start with immigration paperwork. It didn’t begin in a dorm room or a visa line. It started long before that—at home. With my people. With the values, discipline, and dreams that were already taking root.

And that’s the part I need to reclaim.

I remember once being asked how I ended up doing the work I do. And I gave the tidy version. The "professional journey" version. But afterwards, I realized I hadn’t said anything real. Nothing about what lit the spark. Nothing about the hard pivots. Nothing about how it was never part of some grand plan—I just kept following the thread of what felt right, even when it didn’t make sense on paper.

Because when I think about it, this whole idea of cleaning up our stories before we share them—especially for Black women, first-gens, immigrants—it’s a survival skill. We’re taught to lead with what’s palatable. With what sounds polished. With what won’t make anyone uncomfortable.

But here’s the thing—I don’t want my story to be presentable. I want it to be true.

The wins and the waiting seasons. The redirections. The things I started, paused, picked back up. The parts I’m still figuring out.

That’s the real narrative.

And honestly, I’m tired of watering it down.

So here’s what I’m practicing: telling the truth about who I am and how I got here. Not for a bio. Not for a pitch. Just for me.

Because your story doesn’t get less valuable when it’s messy. It gets more powerful when it’s honest.

So if you’ve been playing it safe with your own story—editing yourself for the sake of comfort—this is your reminder:

You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be real.

Tell the truth. Take up space. Write the version that feels like home.

‘Cause wah fi yuh, cyaan un fi yuh.

~Meisha