003 Above the Clouds: Replacing Negative Self-Talk One Thought at a Time

The Airplane Moment

I was sitting on an airplane, high above the clouds, watching the world shrink beneath me. The hum of the engines was steady, almost meditative. In that quiet space, a thought surfaced—one I’ve carried for years: “I’m too fat. I’m not good enough.” It didn’t come with drama or tears. Just a whisper. Familiar. Heavy. And for the first time, I didn’t push it away or let it define me. I just noticed it. And I breathed.

The Whisper That Weighs Us Down

I think I’ve always felt that way—fat and not good enough. I’m not sure I know any other way to feel. That thought has lived in me for so long, it’s become part of my inner landscape. It’s the quiet voice that shows up when I look in the mirror, when I walk into a room, when I try something new. It makes me want to be invisible at times, hoping no one sees me, so they won’t judge me.

On the outside, I’m a confident woman. I smile. I speak up. I show up. But inside, there’s none of that. Inside, I shrink. I second-guess. I brace myself for criticism that may never come but always feels inevitable.

That whisper—“I’m too fat. I’m not good enough”—isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream. It’s subtle, steady, and familiar. And that’s what makes it so heavy. It’s not just a passing thought. It’s a belief I’ve carried for years. One I’m only now beginning to question.

Why Letting Go Doesn’t Mean Fighting

I’ve had that thought—“I’m too fat. I’m not good enough”—a thousand times before. But something about being up there, above the clouds, made it feel different. Maybe it was the distance from everything below. Maybe it was the stillness. Maybe it was the way the world looked so small, so quiet, so far away.

In that moment, I didn’t fight the thought. I didn’t try to drown it out with distractions or force myself to think something positive. I just let it be. I noticed it. I acknowledged it. And for the first time, I didn’t let it define me.

There was no dramatic breakthrough. No sudden wave of self-love. Just a breath. A pause. A quiet shift. And that was enough.

Sitting With the Storm: A New Way to Heal

For most of my life, I’ve either tried to silence those thoughts or let them take over. There was never an in-between. I’d either drown them out with distractions—busyness, food, perfectionism—or I’d spiral into them, letting them dictate how I felt about myself for days.

But that moment on the plane taught me something new: I don’t have to fight the thought, and I don’t have to believe it either. I can just notice it. I can sit with it, like an old companion I no longer need to entertain.

It’s not easy. Sitting with a thought like “I’m not good enough” feels like sitting with a storm. But when I stop running from it, I realize it’s just a thought—not a truth. And in that space between the thought and my reaction, there’s room for something else. Compassion. Curiosity. Even peace.

I’m learning that healing doesn’t always look like shouting affirmations or pretending I’m okay. Sometimes, it looks like breathing through the discomfort. Sometimes, it looks like saying, “I hear you,” and choosing not to believe the lie.

Replacing Old Thoughts With Gentle Truths

I’m learning that I don’t have to silence the old thoughts—I just have to speak new ones louder. Not with force, but with intention. I’m slowly replacing negative self-talk like “I’m too fat” with gentler truths like “I’m getting healthy.” I’m trading “I’m not good enough” for “I’m growing, and that’s enough.” These new thoughts don’t always feel natural. Sometimes they feel like borrowed clothes—hopeful, but unfamiliar. But I wear them anyway. I repeat them. I write them down. I whisper them to myself when I need them most.

I’m learning to speak to myself the way I would speak to someone I love. With softness. With truth. With grace.

And maybe that’s the real victory—not becoming someone else, but finally being kind to the person I’ve always been.

Victory Whispers: Grace in the Quiet Moments

That moment on the airplane didn’t change everything. I still have days when the old thoughts return, when I feel the pull to shrink, to hide, to believe I’m not enough. But now, I know I have a choice. I can listen differently. I can breathe through it. I can speak something new.

Healing isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It’s slow. It’s a whisper that says, “Keep going.”

And maybe that’s what Victory Whispers is all about—not the absence of struggle, but the presence of grace. The gentle, persistent voice that reminds me: I’m getting healthy. I’m growing. I’m enough.