Imagine waking up one morning with no memories. None. Not a single one.
No recollection of your name, no history, no stories playing on repeat in your head. Your mind is calm, still, and strangely quiet. No inner critic reminding you what you should be doing. No old heartbreaks and emotional pain. No mental to-do lists. Just… space.
You blink at the ceiling. It doesn’t mean anything to you. Neither does the mirror, the clothes in your closet, or the lines on your face. “How old am I?” you wonder, but simply out of curiosity, instead of dread. Age means nothing without a story attached to it. You aren’t 25, or 35, or 45. You simply are.
You feel no pressure to hustle or to “figure yourself out.” No guilt for sleeping in. No shame about the past. Instead, you can only approach the world with the curiosity of a child and the wisdom of someone who hadn’t been conditioned to doubt themselves. You don’t ask, “What should I do?” You ask, “What feels good right now?” You choose outfits based on how they make you feel, not how they make you look. You speak to strangers with ease, unafraid of judgment. You have no judgment.
Without memory, you are free.
But of course, the rest of us live with memory.
We live with the stories we’ve told ourselves a thousand times. Stories about who we are, what we’re good at, what we should fear, and how people see us. What we are worth. Stories shaped by family, culture, school, heartbreak, trauma. Our brains collect these moments and stitch them into a running narrative that becomes the lens through which we see the world and ourselves in it.
And it’s not just memory—it’s biased memory.
Our brains are wired to retain information that confirms what we already believe (thank you, confirmation bias) and to protect us from perceived threats—even if those threats are just imagined social rejection. The result? We end up living in a loop. We relive the past, project it onto the future, and forget that we’re actually free to choose a different story.
That’s why so many of us feel stuck—not because we are stuck, but because our stories are.
So what if we could create a little purposeful amnesia?
What if we could gently set our stories down, just for a moment? What if we stopped asking, “What does someone like me do?” and instead asked, “What do I want to do?”
You don’t need to lose your memory to experience this freedom. You just need to pause the narrative long enough to see who you are beneath it.
Because there’s a version of you underneath all the conditioning. A version that isn’t limited by the time you failed. A version that isn’t weighed down by who left. A version that isn’t trapped by age or expectation.
And that version of you? It’s in there! Always has been.
So maybe today, just for fun, you pretend you’ve forgotten it all. Your name. Your age. Your story.
And you ask: If I didn’t know who I was supposed to be… who would I choose to be?
Let that question be your invitation back to yourself. Not the self the world told you to be.
The one you were before the story began.
Have a great weekend dear,
Jelena