The Story You Are Telling

 

September 21, 2026 Regenerate Your World  Build the future you want to live in. I know these times aren't the easiest for all of us, but I am an optimist - I see the glass as refillable instead of half-full or half-empty. To brighten up your days, I publish the Regenerate Your World newsletter coming to your inbox on a bi-weekly basis. Let's Get Empowered!

The Story You Are Telling A reminder of where we have been. This is pre-hostas in June 2026. Dear Empowered Reader, "We do not remember our lives. We remember the stories we have told about our lives. And those stories, more than the events themselves, determine who we become next." Back in June, I promised you a post about the hostas in September. The one that looked defeated in May has many new leaves. The roots were working the whole time. I just couldn't see it yet. In June, I wrote to you about tending. About staying with something past the point of glamour, past the novelty, past the weeks when showing up feels like effort. The hostas were my example. They were also my practice. What I didn't anticipate, what the garden gave me that I didn't ask for, was the question that rose alongside the growth. Because watching those plants move from limp and uncertain to full and rooted, I found myself telling a story about it.  Not all of the hostas have survived but a few are thriving. Psychologist Dan McAdams has spent his career studying how people construct what he calls the "personal narrative", the internalized, evolving story each of us tells about our own life. His research shows that this narrative is not merely a description of what has happened to us. It is the primary mechanism through which we understand who we are and who we are becoming. McAdams and his colleagues identified two dominant story structures in personal narratives: redemption sequences and contamination sequences. In a redemption sequence, a bad or difficult thing leads to something good; loss becomes wisdom, failure becomes redirection, pain becomes growth. People who tell their lives primarily through redemption sequences show higher measures of well-being, generativity, and resilience. They are more likely to keep going after setbacks. In a contamination sequence, a good thing is spoiled, a promising start is undermined, an achievement is overshadowed, a hopeful period is remembered as naive. People who tell their lives primarily through contamination sequences show higher rates of depression, stagnation, and the sense that trying is futile. The events, McAdams notes carefully, are often the same. What differs is the story structure imposed on them. We have more authorship over our own narratives than we typically exercise. Read that last line again. We have more authorship over our own narratives than we typically exercise. This is not the same as toxic positivity, the decision to simply decide that everything is fine and carry on. McAdams is not saying the difficulty wasn't real or that the loss didn't happen. He is saying that we have a choice in what role we assign those events in the larger arc of our story. Whether they are the end of a chapter or the beginning of the next one. Whether they are evidence that we can't, or data that we are learning. This hosta is not giving up! The bunnies have eaten it twice...but it keeps growing back! Before we can revise a story, we need to recognize which one we are currently telling. Here is what contamination and redemption language actually sounds like,  not in theory, but in the way we talk to ourselves and others. Contamination language,  the story that closes:  "I had such momentum, and then I lost it."  "I used to be someone who could do that."  "Things were going well until ...."  "I don't know what happened to the person I was becoming. "Redemption language, the story that opens:  "That was harder than I expected, and I learned something I couldn't have learned any other way."  "The version of me who tried and stumbled was necessary for the version of me who is here now."  "This chapter is not the whole book." Notice that redemption language does not pretend the hard thing wasn't hard. It simply refuses to let the hard thing be the last word. Notice also how familiar contamination language might feel. Our culture is fluent in it. We learn it young, from the way adults around us narrated their own disappointments, their own unlived possibilities, the things that were spoiled. We absorb it the way we absorb an accent. And then, without quite knowing it, we speak it as our own. The question is not whether you have told contamination stories. Of course you have. We all have. The question is whether you are willing to pick up the pen. At first, I was disappointed because the hostas were starting to yellow; then a friend told me that the yellowing is all part of the process. I went from contamination language to Redemptive language in a heartbeat. The hostas have grown. Eight new leaves on the one I thought might not survive. Some hostas didn't make it as the bunnies and squirrels ate them...I have been thinking about what it means that I almost told that story as a failure story. Almost said: I planted them wrong. A few got eaten along the way. Almost said: too late in the season. Almost said: some things just don't take. Instead I stayed. I tended. I waited. I asked friends for help on what to do. Now I have to admit the story was never about the plants. It was about learning that I am someone who stays. That I am someone who tends past the wilting. Who trusts what she cannot yet see. Who returns, not because the conditions are perfect, but because the work is mine, and mine is worth returning to. This fall, I am planting that story deeper than the roots. I am letting it become what I believe about myself. We started something in June. We tended it through the summer. And now it is fall, and the beds are not quite what we thought, but they are ours, and the roots have gone deep, and the story of these plants, your plants and mine, is a story I want us to carry into the next season. What you planted this spring is not just in the ground. It is in you. Honor it. Name it. Write its next paragraph. AFFIRMATION "I am not the sum of what happened to me. I am the author of what I make of it. My story is still being written. I hold the pen with both hands — honoring what was, and opening to what is next." THE PRACTICE:  This practice moves in three stages. Give yourself an unhurried hour, your journal, and if possible, a quiet that feels like fall.  The harvest inventory: honor what was.  Before you analyze or reframe anything, simply witness the year.  Divide a page into two columns.  On the left: what grew: the things you tended that took root, the moments of genuine becoming, the small and large victories that perhaps you haven't fully claimed.  On the right: what didn't: the seeds that didn't germinate, the efforts that stalled, the things that were harder than you expected. Do not rush this. Linger with both columns equally. Both deserve your full attention before we move on. The story audit: notice the arc you're telling.  Look at the right column, the things that didn't grow, the hard chapters.  Choose one.  Now honestly ask: what story am I currently telling about this?  Write it down exactly as you would say it to a trusted friend. Don't edit it into something prettier; write the actual story you tell.  Then look at it and ask: is this a contamination sequence or a redemption sequence?  Is this a story that closes or a story that opens?  Is this the end of the chapter, or one sentence in the middle of a longer paragraph? The new paragraph: pick up the pen.  Now write a new paragraph. Not a rewrite of what happened; that would be dishonest, and honesty is the foundation. But a new paragraph, the one that comes after the hard part.  The paragraph that begins: "And what I came to understand from that was..." or "What I didn't know then, that I know now, is..." or simply: "The person I became on the other side of that is someone who..."  You are not erasing the difficult sentence. You are writing the next one. That is the whole practice. That is the whole art. If you're not sure where to begin, begin here. Use any of these as the first line of your new paragraph.  Write without stopping for five minutes. Do not read back until you've finished. "The version of me who went through that learned something I couldn't have learned any other way, which is..." "I used to tell this story as a story about loss. What I see now is that it was also a story about..." "The person I am becoming, the one I can feel taking shape this fall, is someone who..." "If I gave myself permission to write the next chapter with full authorship, it would begin..." Let me know how it goes. What insights did you have? Take Care, Dear Reader.  This season is yours. Julie Founder, Empower Possible Resources: https://psychology.northwestern.edu/people/faculty/core/profiles/dan-mcadams.html  Was this newsletter forwarded to you? Click here to get your own subscription. When the Geese Go When the geese go south, no sermon follows. The sky keeps their brief handwriting, then lets it fade. Creation practices departure without calling it failure...... Read the rest at https://www.everypoem.org/poems-about-harvest-and-autumn

In the Media Where can you find EMPOWER Possible? In addition to posting on my own social media, I collaborate with other entrepreneurs.  Thank you to the Canvas Rebel for the interview and article. Click the link, https://canvasrebel.com/meet-julie-zaruba-fountaine-2/ , read the article. Upcoming Events Luminary Conference Presentation When: September 25, 2026 Where: Rochester, MN  What: I am thrilled to be taking the stage at the upcoming Luminary Conference! I will be sharing actionable frameworks on sustainable leadership, thriving through large-scale organizational transitions, and shifting workplace cultures from a state of survival and overwhelm into a space of abundance and clarity. To learn more, click here. Wisdom of Winter Retreat When: February 25 to 28 2027 Where: True North Resort, Nisswa, MN What: In partnership with Art of Presence and Taylor and Co., Empower Possible is hosting a winter retreat. Surrounded by peaceful lake views, snow-covered forests, and the quiet beauty of winter, this retreat is designed to help you slow down, reconnect, and restore. Come as you are. Leave feeling rested, grounded, and renewed. Learn more: https://taylorandcoapothecary.com/2027-nisswa-retreat/  Mountain 10 Workshops What is Mountain 10?  During this three-hour workshop, we will focus on accessing your inner wisdom to bring about the changes you deeply desire in your life. We will use the Mountain 10 process, a proven, new technology for deep reflection on human change. It is based on the conviction that every person has the most important answers about direction, purpose, and calling within them. For a Mountain 10 experience, join the Wisdom of Winter Retreat. Can't make it to the Wisdom of Winter Retreat? Join the waitlist. Click HERE Please reach out if you have any questions: info@empowerpossible.com

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