Can I Tell You A Story?

There’s a little girl inside me who still remembers the sparkle in her eyes when she went on adventures with her dad. She was three and a half, full of joy, curiosity, and trust. Life was simple back then—until one day, I innocently told my mom something that shattered our family. My dad had kissed another woman, and everything changed.

I didn’t realize it then, but that moment would shape the rest of my life. I saw him, perhaps, a handful of times after than.

It wasn’t just about losing my father; it was about the story I began to tell myself: I caused this. This is my fault. That belief settled deep into my core, where shame and rejection built a quiet home. I learned to survive by becoming someone I thought the world wanted me to be—optimistic, hardworking, and self-sufficient.  Seen and not heard. But underneath it all, I was disconnected, numb, and carrying wounds that I didn’t fully understand.

Still, life went on. I got married young, had children, and poured myself into building a good life. I was determined to give my kids a better childhood than my own. I worked hard, set goals, and achieved them. I built a career, nurtured a loving family, and created a home filled with laughter, traditions, and countless memories. 

On the surface, life looked amazing—and in many ways, it was. I would have told you I was happy, and I believed it. But deep down, something felt off. There was a quiet disconnection in my heart, a numbness that I couldn’t quite explain, so I pushed through and focused on doing my best.

Fast forward to my early 50s, when life decided to test me yet again. A string of losses—my soulmate sister, Kelly; my beloved uncles, Howard and Bert; my mom; and my best friend—brought me to my knees. I was grieving, untethered, and struggling to find my footing. I coped in unhealthy ways that distanced me from everyone, including myself.

That’s when the Enneagram came into my life.

At first, I thought it was just another personality tool. But the Enneagram isn’t about labels—it’s about truth. Slowly, compassionately, it invited me to unpack all the stuffed-down hurt, guilt, and shame I had carried for decades. It showed me how the little girl who once blamed herself for her family’s pain had grown into a woman driven by those same unseen stories. And it gave me a map to finally let go.

It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy. But one week, years into my journey, something broke open. Joy—real, unfiltered, heartwide-open joy—poured out of me for the first time since I was a child. I felt alive in a way I couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

Here’s what I know now: we all have stories. Stories of raw heartbreak and hope, love and loss, survival and resilience. They shape how we see the world, how we make decisions, and how we show up in our lives. The problem is, we often don’t realize how much those old underlying stories are still running the show. That’s where the Enneagram changes everything.

The Enneagram is more than a tool—it’s a mirror. It gently reveals what we’ve been avoiding, what we’ve been clinging to, and what we’re capable of becoming. It’s not about fixing yourself (you’re not broken). It’s about understanding yourself—deeply, fully, and compassionately—and choosing a different way forward.

My story is just one example of how transformational this work can be. Maybe your story looks different. Maybe you grew up in chaos, in perfection, or in quiet neglect. Maybe you’ve never thought about how those early experiences still show up in your relationships, your business, or even how you treat yourself. But I promise you this: once you start exploring, you’ll see the threads. And when you do, you’ll finally have the power to choose what parts of the narrative to change.

So, can I tell you a story? Better yet, can you tell yourself one—the real one? Because buried beneath all the survival tactics and coping mechanisms is the essence of who you really are. And that version of you is worth uncovering.

Love is ALL there is,

Diana