Did You Believe This Lie, Too?
One summer, when I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend named Carl.
I called him Carl because I was obsessed with Carl Lewis, the legendary sprinter and long jumper for Team USA.
I know, you’re probably still stuck on the fact that I had an imaginary friend. But before you judge, remember—I grew up on a farm, and trips to town were rare during the summer.
For reasons that made perfect sense to my young mind, I decided I needed to dig a big Army foxhole—a sort of underground fort where Carl and I could hang out.
Again, we lived on a farm!
I asked my dad to help, but he was working two jobs, doing everything he could to provide for us.
But I didn’t stop asking. I kept asking. And asking. And asking.
Eventually, my dad helped, but I could tell he felt burdened by it—he had so much else to do.
Like working to pay our bills.
At the time, I couldn’t understand why anything could be more important than building this fort.
And just to be clear, my dad didn’t say I was a burden. But I saw it in the way he walked to the hole and started digging. It was written all over him.
Burden.
After we finished, I started to realize that I didn’t enjoy the fort as much as I thought I would.
It wasn’t that the fort wasn’t cool. It was that I felt bad. I couldn't shake this feeling that I was a burden. And, I felt terrible about it.
My dad never called me a burden, but that’s what I internalized..and believed. And I carried that story with me for years.
When I needed help, I wouldn’t ask because I was afraid of being a burden.
When I felt alone and wanted to call a friend, I didn’t because I feared being a burden.
When I had something important to say, I stayed quiet because I was afraid of being too much--afraid of being a burden.
For a long time, this misunderstood moment from my childhood heavily shaped and reduced the quality of my leadership and life.
And the hardest part? I was never a burden—to my father or anyone else. It's just what I was taught to believe.
The point is that we spend our early years picking up stories, carrying them into adulthood, where they still affect us as leaders and as people.
The worst part is that if we don’t recognize, reframe, and respond to these stories, we risk passing them on to the people we love the most.
So, I’m wondering...
What story do you want to let go of today? What story have you carried for far too long?
The story that says you’re not enough? The story that says there’s no time for play? The story that says you have to be perfect in order to be accepted?
Reply to this email and let me know. After all, recognizing the outdated story is the first step to writing a new one.
As always, I’m rooting for you. We’re in this together.
In case you don't remember, my name is Caleb. I help leaders unlock untapped capacity so they can perform at their best and reclaim the life satisfaction and joy that may have been lost along the way.