Challenging Limiting Beliefs

I first came across the idea of limiting beliefs years ago.

At the time, mine were very physical. I believed I wasn’t healthy enough to run 5k. That I was too overweight. That running “wasn’t for people like me”. When I eventually questioned those beliefs, I discovered something deeper underneath them.

I wasn’t just scared to try. I was scared to be.

When I really sat with it, I realised I had beliefs that if I became healthier, people would like me less. That I would be less fun. Less attractive. That I might even lose friends.

Saying that out loud sounds ridiculous. Why would being healthier make me less likeable? Why would people disappear? And yet these beliefs were real, deeply held, and powerful. Rational or not, they were there.

Some of them were shaped by my past. I grew up in the 1980s, in a culture where misogyny was normalised, women’s bodies were public property, and consent was often treated as optional. Society has moved on, thankfully, but those early messages don’t evaporate just because the world changes.

I worried about how my body would look if it changed. Would I look gaunt? Would my skin sag? Would people who had accepted me at a larger size still accept me at a smaller one? These questions weren’t about vanity. They were about belonging.

I also had, and still sometimes have, a complicated relationship with food and exercise. Food has long been my emotional comfort blanket. A tough day? Crisps, chocolate, maybe wine. Exercise, I now know, is a far better regulator for me, but knowing and doing are not always the same thing.

This weekend, I uncovered a few more limiting beliefs.

That other people are more important than me.
That my ideas need validation from others to be legitimate.

I also heard limiting beliefs voiced about disabled people. I won’t repeat what was said, but at the heart of it was the assumption that disabled people cannot live full, meaningful lives. That belief says far more about the person holding it than the people it targets.

Another belief I encountered was that if someone champions the rights of disabled people, they must have an ulterior motive. Which revealed a deeper assumption: that people only help others for personal gain.

That circled me right back to my own belief that other people are more important than me.

And that is a belief I am actively changing.

Other people matter. Deeply.
But so do I.

I don’t need my ideas to be championed by others to be valid. I know my values. I know why I do what I do. I am not perfect, but I am values-led.

Recently, I had to address a situation that put me in real internal conflict. My instinct to help, to put someone else’s wellbeing ahead of my own, was actually causing harm. Harm to me, and ultimately harm to them. When I really reflected, I could see that this harm was already happening.

I’m being intentionally vague here because this involves someone else’s health and wellbeing, and that is not mine to share.

But this kind of dilemma is not unique. It shows up in caregiving relationships all the time, particularly within families. There is a delicate balance between the needs of the caregiver and the care receiver. Everyone has a threshold. Beyond it, the quality of care declines and neither person’s needs are properly met.

What I realised is that my own threshold is tightly linked to hope. If I believe my help is making a positive difference, I can dig deep. I’m resilient. I can keep going.

But what became clear was that my help was no longer helping.

This is the same question parents of children with addiction face. Or people deciding whether to give money to someone begging on the street. Where is the line between helping and enabling?

I believed I was contributing to a better outcome. In reality, I was enabling a path that dimmed someone’s light. And so I had to say no more.

I still care.
But I cannot continue to support a direction I do not believe in.

That decision forced me to confront my limiting beliefs head-on.

I am as important as anyone else.
I don’t need everyone to agree with me.
Feedback is information, not permission.
I can take it or leave it.
I can walk my own path.

I am values-driven. I am enough.

There’s another side to my limiting beliefs too. Often, I truly believe anything is possible. I have big ideas, bold ideas, sometimes wild ones. I sometimes seek support for them because I know I can get carried away.

But experience tells me something important.

I am a double Ironman.
A former CEO.
I’ve founded multiple businesses.
I grew up on a council estate.
I’ve survived being widowed.
In the last two years, I’ve created events, built organisations, closed one business, and kept going.

My ideas are not too big for me.

I don’t do any of this alone. My support network matters enormously. But that is not the same as needing agreement. Support is not validation. It is companionship on the road.

Some things need to change.

I have been deprioritising my health, and that needs to stop. I care deeply about others, but to be effective in what I believe matters, I must look after myself.

I matter.

If I don’t prioritise me, who will?

So I choose me. And by choosing me, I know I can show up better for others. I will inspire people in my orbit. I won’t make everyone happy. And when something no longer aligns with my values, I will step back.

Even when that’s uncomfortable.

Because I matter. And so do you.

This shift has left me with a strange feeling, a kind of quiet vacuum. Some of my biggest ideas were driven by a desire to help and provide for people close to me. Now I’m asking a different question.

What do I want?

That question stings a little. Not grief. Just unfamiliar space.

And through that lens, things are starting to look different.

I don’t want to run a club for children with SEND just to plug a gap. I want to create opportunities for people to live their best lives. To move. To cycle, run, dance, volunteer. That’s who I am.

I don’t just run a beer festival. It’s a community event. A joyful one. And maybe it also lets me be a philanthropist in my own way. That’s allowed. Wanting to do good and enjoying it are not mutually exclusive.

Is it okay to want recognition for helping people? Yes.
Is it okay not to need it? Also yes.

Like chocolate. I don’t need it. But I’m allowed to enjoy it.

I will run amazing holidays.
I will create joyful events.
I will speak up about not diminishing people.

I matter. You matter.

We all deserve to be our full, extraordinary selves. And if you truly want to be ordinary, that’s fine too. Just keep an eye on those limiting beliefs.

As for me?

I am happy.
I am healthy.
I am honest, community-driven, values-led, and delightfully quirky.
I get things done.
I make a difference.

And now, finally, I understand this:

I matter.
And you do too. 🌱