The Story You Tell & the Energy That Leaks

At some point in adulthood, we realize that the story we tell about ourselves didn’t just help us understand our lives — it quietly became who we are.

At first, stories serve a purpose.
They help us make meaning.
They organize pain.
They give shape to chaos.
They help us survive.

But over time, something subtle happens.

We get used to the story.
We animate it.
We repeat it.
We refine it.
We know exactly how it goes.

And eventually, we stop asking the questions that matter most:

Is this story still true?
Is it still useful?
Who am I outside of it?

This is where the inquiry needs to land gently but honestly:

Are you living from your story — or hiding inside it?

Because stories don’t just explain our lives.
They can become our identity.
Our fuel.
Our justification.
Even a source of pain we don’t know how to put down.

Sometimes we’re not afraid to heal.
We’re afraid of not knowing who we are without the pain that shaped us.

So the question shifts.

It’s no longer, What happened to me?
It becomes, Am I still animating this story because it’s familiar — even if it’s draining me?

Pain as Fuel — and Its Hidden Cost

This is a delicate distinction, but an important one.

Pain can give energy.
Pain can give momentum.
Pain can even give purpose — for a while.

But pain is not a sustainable fuel source.

When someone has lived in survival for long enough, the nervous system can mistake intensity for aliveness. Struggle becomes familiar. Effort becomes identity. And rest can feel unsafe or undeserved.

Over time, the cost shows up.

And this is where the body always tells the truth.

The body doesn’t misbehave — it responds to the conditions it’s placed in.

When we keep telling the same story, we recreate the same environment —
and our body responds accordingly.

Symptoms are not random.
Burnout is not random.
Exhaustion is not a personal failure.

They are responses.

The Drainage Point

One of the frameworks that helped me understand this more clearly comes from Paul Chek, who speaks about the idea that energy always leaks somewhere.

We don’t just “get sick.”
We don’t suddenly “lose vitality.”
The body compensates — until it can’t.

There is usually a drainage point —
a place where energy escapes faster than it can be replenished.

Sometimes it shows up as chronic stress or fatigue.
Sometimes as digestive issues, recurring health challenges, or emotional overwhelm.
Often, though, the drainage point isn’t physical first.

It’s relational.
It’s emotional.
It’s identity-based.

Which brings us back to the story.

Finding the Leak

Instead of asking, What’s wrong with me?
A different set of questions opens the door to clarity:

Where does my energy consistently leak?
What costs me more than it gives?
What do I keep carrying that never actually resolves?
What story do I have to keep repeating in order to stay where I am?

Because balance isn’t about doing more.
It’s about plugging the leak.

And leaks are often connected to roles we never questioned, identities we inherited, survival stories we outgrew, and obligations we never consciously chose.

Health issues often appear where honesty has been delayed.
Not as punishment —
but as communication.

Relating to Your Story Differently

This is the quiet truth underneath it all:

What drains us isn’t who we are — it’s the field we’re trying to survive in.

The work isn’t to erase your story or deny what you’ve lived through.
It’s to ask whether you’re ready to relate to it differently.

You don’t lose energy because you’re weak.
You lose energy because something is draining you — repeatedly.

And until you’re willing to question the story that justifies that drain, your body will keep trying to get your attention.

An Invitation

These letters aren’t about fixing yourself.
They’re about learning how to think clearly, conserve life force, and choose what’s actually livable.

This is Letter #2 in the series No One’s Coming to Save You —
an unfolding book and weekly reflection on responsibility, energy, and sustainability.

If this resonated, share it with a friend.
Invite them to subscribe.
We’re learning how to stop surviving inside stories that no longer fit the lives we’re meant to live.

With care,
Esther

Enjoy music I’ve created, inspired by my book Emotions Are the First Draft — a soundscape for feeling before fixing, and listening before understanding.