This week I went to the theatre.

The lights dimmed, the first few notes rang out, and the whole theatre seemed to lean forward at once. I was at The Lowry, tucked into my seat with a programme on my lap, watching High School Musical. I’d come for a fun night out with one of my daughters, nothing more - a bit of nostalgia, a few catchy songs, maybe a quiet sing-along under my breath.

What I didn’t expect was the lump in my throat, or how quickly the night would turn from light entertainment into something much more personal.

Somewhere between the bright choreography and the beaming faces on stage, something shifted in me. The buzz of the crowd, the sparkle of it all, the sheer joy pouring off those young performers caught me completely off guard. I sat there in the dark feeling oddly emotional about a show I thought I knew inside out. And on the drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not the songs, exactly. Something underneath them.

Why an old story hit a new nerve

Here’s the funny thing about nostalgia: it doesn’t just remind us of the past. It can bring us back to who we were then, and to the beliefs we formed about ourselves.

Watching those characters, I remembered being that age. All the trying-to-fit-in of it. The quiet worry about what people thought. The sense that there was a version of me I was supposed to be, and stepping outside it felt risky. That’s what caught me. Not the story on stage, but the story it stirred up in me.

Because underneath all the glitter, High School Musical is really about young people wrestling with labels. Troy’s meant to be the basketball star, nothing more. Gabriella’s the brainy one who keeps her head down. Everyone’s been handed a box, and the whole story is about the courage it takes to climb out of it.

Sound familiar? It did to me.

The stories we inherit

Most of us are carrying stories about ourselves that we never chose.

A throwaway comment from a teacher. A role we played in our family, maybe the sensible one, the difficult one, or the one who never made a fuss. A moment of embarrassment we’ve quietly held onto for years. These little things settle into us, and over time they harden into beliefs. “I’m not creative.” “I’m too much.” “I’m not the sort of person who does that.”

We repeat these lines to ourselves so often that they stop feeling like opinions. They start feeling like facts.

But they’re not facts. They’re scripts. Most of them were written by someone else, a long time ago, based on a single moment or one person’s limited view of you. You’ve been living by rules you didn’t set, following a story you didn’t write.

Noticing the script

You can’t rewrite a story you can’t see, so the first, gentlest step is simply noticing.

Start paying attention to the things you say about yourself, especially the automatic ones. The phrases that pop out before you’ve even thought about them. “Oh, I could never.” “That’s just how I am.” “I’ve always been rubbish at that.”

Notice when you shrink yourself before anyone else gets the chance. Notice the moments you talk yourself out of something you actually want. And notice how those thoughts feel in your body, because old beliefs often show up as a tightening, a flicker of shame, a little inner “no” that arrives faster than logic.

Here are a few questions to sit with. No pressure to answer them all. Just let them turn over quietly in your mind:

• What’s a belief I hold about myself that I’ve never really questioned?

• Whose voice do I actually hear when that belief shows up?

• When did I first start telling myself this story?

• Is it genuinely true, or is it just familiar?

• If a good friend said this about herself, what would I want her to know?

That last one tends to soften things. We’re so much kinder to the people we love than we are to ourselves.

Rewriting your own narrative

You can’t change what happened. You can’t unsay the comment or undo the moment. But you do get a say in which stories you keep carrying forward.

When you spot an old belief, try this: instead of accepting it, get curious. Ask yourself, “Is this still serving me?” So often the answer is no. It’s just a habit wearing the costume of truth.

Then try gently loosening its grip. A few small things that help:

• Name it as a story, not a fact. Swap “I’m not confident” for “I’ve been telling myself I’m not confident.” That tiny shift reminds you it’s something you learned, not something you are.

• Look for the evidence against it. Our beliefs love to ignore anything that doesn’t fit. Go looking on purpose. When have you been brave, capable, or exactly enough?

• Choose one new line. Pick a kinder, truer thing to say to yourself and repeat it, even when it feels a little clumsy at first. New stories always feel awkward before they feel real.

This isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect or slapping a positive quote over a genuine wound. It’s about permitting yourself to update a story that’s well past its sell-by date.

Choosing who you’re becoming

Troy didn’t stop being a basketball player. Gabriella didn’t stop being clever. They just refused to let those labels be the whole story. They made room for more.

You get to do the same.

Your past has shaped you; of course it has. Every experience, every voice, every chapter is woven into who you are today. But shaping you is not the same as defining you. The past gets a mention in your story. It doesn’t get the final word.

So this week, I’d love you to pick just one. One old belief you’ve been lugging around that you’re quietly ready to put down. You don’t have to solve it or fully let it go. Just notice it, question it, and give yourself the tiniest bit of space to imagine who you’d be without it.

I went to the theatre expecting a fun night out. I came home reminded that the stories we tell ourselves aren’t set in stone. And honestly, that reminder will stay with me.

You’re still writing yours. Make it a good one.

Katie x