Breaking Scripts I Didn’t Write
There’s a moment every leader knows but rarely admits: that jarring realization when you stop mid-step and think, Wait—who wrote this story? Because it doesn’t sound like me.
For a long time, I thought I was following my own script. I had the lines memorized, the cues down, the gestures polished. But somewhere along the way, I slipped into a role that had been written for me—or worse, a role no one actually wrote at all. It was cobbled together from expectations, “shoulds,” and the invisible pull to do things the way they’ve always been done.
The problem with those scripts is they don’t leave much room for your own voice. They keep you busy performing, but not alive creating.
The Scripts We Don’t Choose
Scripts don’t appear out of nowhere. They’re passed down, reinforced, or quietly absorbed.
Family expectations: This is what success looks like.
Professional norms: This is how leaders behave.
Cultural pressure: You should want the stage, the spotlight, the constant climb.
At first, scripts can feel like safety. They give us structure and cues when we’re still figuring things out. But stay in them too long, and they become cages.
One day you wake up and realize you’re living a story that looks polished but feels hollow. You’re hitting your marks but losing your voice.
The Cost of Following
Living by someone else’s script comes at a cost.
Emotional cost: You lose connection to yourself. You confuse applause for alignment.
Physical cost: Burnout creeps in. Your body keeps score even if your mind insists you’re fine.
Opportunity cost: You miss what might have lit you up because you’re too busy reciting lines.
I remember preparing for a keynote that, on paper, sounded incredible. Big stage. Big visibility. The kind of moment you’re supposed to want.
But when I checked in with myself, what I felt wasn’t excitement—it was dread. My body tightened. My chest felt heavy. This wasn’t my stage. It was just a script I thought I had to follow.
So I put it down. And the relief was immediate.
Breaking and Rewriting
Breaking a script doesn’t always mean tearing it up. Sometimes it means editing, rewriting, or improvising.
For me, it has looked like:
Saying no to things that look impressive but don’t align with who I am.
Redefining leadership as presence and wholeness, not performance and perfection.
Asking simple questions before committing: Do I want this? Does this align with my values? Or does it just look good on paper?
That one question—choose it, or supposed to—has become my compass.
Sometimes the shift is small: changing how I run a meeting, deciding not to check email after hours, or giving myself permission to walk out of a room that doesn’t feel right. Other times, it’s bigger: saying no to entire opportunities that aren’t aligned.
Each time, the freedom outweighs the fear.
The Ripple Effect
When you break a script, you don’t just free yourself. You create space for others to do the same.
In my own teams, I’ve seen how honesty changes the room. When I admit something isn’t working or that I don’t have all the answers, it gives permission for others to show up authentically too.
Authenticity isn’t chaos. It’s clarity. It’s structure that serves people, not the other way around.
The most powerful leaders I know aren’t flawless performers. They’re the ones who know when to put the script down and speak from the heart.
Your Voice Belongs Here
Breaking scripts isn’t a one-time decision. New “shoulds” will always creep in. Expectations will always pile up. The work is noticing, pausing, and asking again: Am I choosing this, or just performing it?
This question has become my anchor. It brings me back to center every time. It reminds me that my voice belongs in my story—and so does yours.
So I’ll leave you with this:
What script are you ready to break?