Discovering the Quiet Stories I Tell Myself: A Mindful Journey Through Limiting Beliefs

Written by Latosha Walker
Founder & CEO, Wondering.Waves | Military Spouse | Creator | Storyteller
Published: November 15, 2025

Day 14 of Our Mindfulness Series: There’s a soft hum beneath our daily thoughts—a quiet undercurrent of stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what we’re capable of. Honestly, I’ve known these stories have been there for a long time; I just didn’t know how to acknowledge their hold or how to gently let them go. Sometimes these stories lift me up, but often, they whisper doubts that hold me back in ways I barely notice. Today, I’m inviting both of us into a gentle practice of tuning in to those quiet stories, the ones shaping our self-beliefs in the background.
As a military spouse constantly navigating new skies, new bases, and new versions of myself, I’ve realized these inner narratives can feel like invisible threads weaving through my days—sometimes comforting, sometimes constricting. Recognizing them is becoming my first step in gently unraveling the ones that no longer serve me, so I can make room for kinder, truer beliefs to grow.

Catching the Shadows of Self-Doubt

Lately, I’ve become more aware of those subtle moments when hesitation creeps in—the flutter of doubt that quietly whispers before I take a step forward, or the soft voice inside that questions my worth and belonging. It’s like a shadow that slips in gently, almost unnoticed, until I pause long enough to truly hear it.

One of the most vivid examples comes when I think about reconnecting with the military spouses’ community. There’s this pull, a genuine desire to engage, to share, and to belong. But almost immediately, the doubts surface. Will I get caught up in that “mean girl” mentality again? Will it feel like those painful childhood years when I was part of the class but lived under the weight of bullying—excluded because I attended the “wrong” church, came from the “wrong” family, or because my parents weren’t from around here? Those memories still echo, stirring a quiet ache and a hesitation that tightens in my chest.

Yet, there’s another side to the story—the later years of high school when I found friendships that were real and lasting, people who saw me and cared for me beyond the surface. That hope, that possibility of genuine connection, pulls me forward, even as the shadows tug me back.

Latosha takes a mindful walk through the serene San Angelo landscape, surrounded by cotton fields and prickly pear cactus. In these peaceful moments, she reconnects with creativity, resilience, and the beauty of military spouse life

Over the years, I’ve noticed how familiar this pattern feels. I’ll reach for connection, feel that old fear of not belonging rise up, then slowly pull back and retreat into myself. After a while, I’ll try again—show up, give more, hope harder—only to find myself repeating the same cycle when doubt and old memories resurface.

This push and pull—the dance between fear and hope—is where many of these quiet stories live. Recognizing these shadows, feeling their weight and their origin, has been both unsettling and strangely liberating. It tells me I’m beginning to see the stories that have shaped my choices, the ones that no longer serve me, and that I have the power to gently unravel them.

By shining a light on these doubts, I’m taking the first steps toward rewriting my narrative—one where I can belong fully, without fear, and where joy isn’t held hostage by old wounds.

Have you noticed similar shadows in your own story? What do they whisper to you?

Writing It Out: Journaling as a Mirror to Self

Noticing these shadows is just the beginning. One of the most powerful ways I’ve found to meet them with kindness is through writing—letting my thoughts unfold on the page without judgment.

One of the most powerful tools I’ve found on this journey is simply writing my thoughts down. Since starting this mindfulness series, I’ve been intentionally journaling my days to notice trends and patterns—especially the ones swirling around in my own mind. It’s been so important for me to recognize these feelings, thoughts, and beliefs and actually see them on the page.

In the beginning, back at Day 1, I definitely noticed a flood of negative beliefs rising to the surface. It was uncomfortable but necessary. Those early journal entries were raw and sometimes heavy, revealing stories I hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

But as the days have passed—and now that I realize I’m on Day 14—I can feel a noticeable shift in how I’m thinking. The act of writing has become a mirror to my subconscious, reflecting back not just the old stories but also the new, gentler narratives I’m beginning to craft.

Journaling isn’t about fixing everything at once. It’s about creating a safe space to observe without judgment, to meet these quiet stories with kindness instead of fear. This practice has been a gentle guide, helping me move from feeling stuck in limiting beliefs toward opening up to curiosity, compassion, and growth.

Tracing Back to the Roots of My Beliefs

Understanding where these stories come from is a vital step, but the real work lies in gently choosing new ways to relate to them—small, mindful steps that slowly weave a different story.

Early Seeds of Not Belonging

As I sit with these quiet stories, I’m starting to see that they didn’t just appear out of nowhere—they grew from real moments and seasons of my life. Some of them reach all the way back to childhood, to the times when I was technically “part of the group” but still felt like an outsider. I remember what it was like to be in the room and still feel separate because I went to the “wrong” church, had the “wrong” family, or my parents weren’t from the area. Those experiences planted early seeds of not belonging, of feeling like I had to work twice as hard just to be tolerated, let alone accepted.

The Military Spouse Cycle

Later, as a military spouse, those old threads wove themselves into new chapters. Constant moves, new bases, new communities—each transition brought the same questions: Will I fit in here? Is there space for someone like me? There were seasons when I felt invisible in the background, showing up, serving, doing my best, but still wondering if anyone really saw me beyond the role I played.

These experiences shaped my behavior in cycles that felt exhausting and unending. At times, I felt deeply isolated, retreating inward and shutting down to protect myself. Then, after some months, I would gather strength and try harder to belong—to connect, to prove my worth, to break through the barriers. But inevitably, the doubts and fears would resurface, and the cycle would repeat. I was consistently stuck in this push-pull rhythm, caught between wanting connection and fearing rejection.

Now, at 34, I’m beginning to realize how difficult it was to manage those decisions in such a cyclical, exhausting way. Understanding this pattern is helping me approach myself with more compassion and patience. I’m learning that growth isn’t about breaking the cycle overnight but gently stepping out of it, one mindful moment at a time.

Over time, those moments quietly turned into beliefs: Maybe I’m too different. Maybe I’m not really wanted. Maybe it’s safer to stay on the sidelines than risk being hurt again. At the time, those beliefs felt like protection. They helped me stay small and safe, to avoid situations that might reopen old wounds.

But now, I’m realizing that what once helped me survive is sometimes the very thing holding me back. Those old stories can keep me from stepping into new spaces that might actually be good for me—new friendships, new communities, new opportunities for joy and connection.

Tracing these roots doesn’t mean blaming myself or anyone else. Instead, it opens a door to compassion. When I see where these beliefs come from, I can soften toward myself. I can honor the younger version of me who learned to be cautious and guarded, while gently choosing something different for the woman I am now. I don’t have to keep carrying every old story. I can acknowledge their place in my past and still make room for kinder, truer beliefs to grow.

What early experiences might be shaping your quiet stories today?

Small Steps Toward New Stories and Mindset Shifts

Changing deep-seated stories isn’t a straight path. It’s a journey full of twists, turns, and moments of grace.

Changing these quiet narratives isn’t about making a sudden, dramatic shift. It’s more like weaving a new pattern—stitch by stitch, thought by thought, moment by mindful moment.

One practice I’ve started is simply pausing when doubt creeps in. Instead of rushing past the feeling or pushing it away, I try to observe it without judgment—like watching a leaf gently float down a stream. I notice where the doubt lives in my body: maybe a tightness in my chest or a flutter in my stomach. Naming it helps me step back from the story it’s telling.

Once I’ve caught that moment, I ask myself gentle questions: “Is this belief really true? What evidence do I have? What might a trusted friend say if they heard this thought?” Sometimes, just hearing my own doubts out loud or writing them down reveals how unkind or unfounded they can be.

Now, in my mid-thirties, I’m starting to see that I can’t keep living in that same loop of isolate–shut down–try harder–repeat. It’s simply too exhausting to carry into every new season. These small, mindful practices are my way of stepping out of that cycle—choosing awareness over autopilot, kindness over criticism, and gentle progress over perfection.

Rewriting these stories takes practice. Instead of “I’m not good enough,” I try telling myself, “I’m learning and growing every day.” Instead of “I don’t belong,” I remind myself, “I’m worthy of connection and kindness.” These aren’t empty affirmations—they’re invitations to see myself with more compassion and openness.

Celebrating the small wins is also vital. Every time I choose to keep going despite the shadows, every moment I show up for myself, I acknowledge the courage it took. These little victories stitch together a stronger, gentler narrative.

Community has been a lifeline in this process. Sharing my journey with friends and fellow military spouses who understand the unique challenges helps me feel less alone. Their stories, encouragement, and presence create a web of support that catches me when old doubts try to pull me down.

These small, mindful steps aren’t flashy or perfect, but they’re real and sustainable. They’re the quiet work of rewriting my story—one thought, one breath, one connection at a time.

Walking This Path With Patience, Self-Compassion, and Heart

One of the most profound lessons this mindfulness series is teaching me is that growth isn’t a straight line or a perfect journey. It’s messy, tender, and deeply personal—full of twists, pauses, and sometimes steps backward. Like the loops in my crochet projects, each small stitch and every tiny effort builds something meaningful over time, even if the progress isn’t always obvious day to day.

When I look back at the younger versions of myself—caught in that exhausting cycle of pulling back, shutting down, then trying harder again—I feel a tenderness I didn’t have before. Patience now looks like giving her grace, while also choosing a new way forward for the woman I am today.

Matthew often reminds me that creativity and mindfulness are acts of love—love for our craft, love for the lives we’re living, and most importantly, love for ourselves. That reminder has become a gentle anchor for me. Extending that love inward means embracing my quiet stories—the doubts, the fears, the old patterns—with curiosity and care rather than judgment.

In daily life, this looks like giving myself permission to rest when I’m tired instead of pushing through, speaking kindly to myself when negative thoughts arise, and celebrating the small victories, no matter how minor they seem. It’s about honoring the process, not just the outcome.

There have been moments when patience felt like the hardest practice of all—times when I wanted to rush forward or fix things immediately. But leaning into patience, trusting that each stitch in this journey matters, has helped me find peace amid uncertainty.

As I continue weaving together mindfulness, creativity, and self-compassion, I’m learning that this path, with all its imperfections, is exactly where joy can grow deepest.

Practical Tips for Noticing and Shifting Limiting Beliefs

Over the course of this mindfulness journey, I’ve found several small practices that gently help me notice and shift those quiet, limiting beliefs that so often shape my days.

Pause and Observe
When a negative thought or doubt creeps in—whether it’s a whisper of “I’m not enough” or a shadow of hesitation—I try to stop and notice it without rushing to fix or push it away. It’s like stepping back to watch a leaf float down a stream, allowing the thought to pass without judgment. This pause creates space for awareness, which is the first step toward change.

Question the Story
Questioning the truth of these beliefs has also been transformative. I’ll ask myself, “Is this really true? What evidence do I have?” Sometimes, writing down these thoughts reveals how often they’re based on fears rather than facts. Imagining what a trusted friend might say about these beliefs helps me see them in a kinder, more balanced light.

Rewrite with Kindness
Rewriting these stories takes practice. Instead of “I’m not good enough,” I might tell myself, “I’m learning and growing every day.” Instead of “I don’t belong,” I remind myself, “I’m worthy of connection and kindness.” These aren’t empty affirmations—they’re invitations to see myself with more compassion and openness.

Celebrate Small Wins
Celebrating small wins has become a vital part of nurturing my mindset. Whether it’s speaking up when I usually stay quiet, finishing a creative project despite doubt, or simply choosing self-care on a tough day, I try to acknowledge these moments. I might jot them down in my journal or quietly celebrate with a deep breath and a smile. These little victories weave threads of resilience that strengthen my confidence over time.

Lean on Community
Community support has been a lifeline through this process. Sharing my reflections with friends, fellow military spouses, or creative peers who understand the unique challenges I face has helped me feel less alone. Their encouragement and shared stories remind me that growth is a journey we walk together, and that kindness from others can help soften the inner critic.

These small, mindful steps aren’t about perfection or quick fixes. They’re about gentle, ongoing care for my inner world—creating room for joy and self-compassion to grow.

Reflection Prompt: What Quiet Story Are You Carrying?

Take a moment to sit with your thoughts. What recurring belief about yourself quietly influences your choices? Where might it have come from? How could you gently begin to rewrite this story with more kindness and truth?

Maybe, like me, you’ve noticed a pattern you keep repeating—reaching out, pulling back, trying harder, then starting over. What might it look like to meet that pattern with compassion instead of criticism?

If you feel comfortable, share your reflections or a local community space or small business that has supported your journey of growth. Let’s inspire and uplift each other with our stories.

With warmth and gratitude,
Latosha