The Story in Your Blood (What Aragorn Taught Me)

My legs pushed against the floor with all my might. The finish line was near, but I was coming second. I had to make a move. Desperate not to lose, I grabbed my competition by the shirt and swung them to the ground. They came crumbling down as I finished the race a winner.

We were riding red and yellow plastic tricycles. My competition was my younger sister. I was five. She was three. When she was swung off her tricycle, her head hit the brick wall. She was left with a Harry Potter like scar for the rest of her life.

Intense competing was built into my blood.

I used competition as a way to test if I was enough as a human. It was a trait I was either born with or learned before I can remember. Win and I'm okay. Lose and I'm worthless.

This is one of my core stories. It shaped how I view myself and the world.

Core stories can come from many places. Parents. Siblings. Teachers. Movies. These stories turn into beliefs and shape how we see the world. They tell you what you can do and can't do, what's right and wrong. In my case, they created a test to see if I was worthy of love.

But some stories go deeper than childhood. Some stories were already there before you arrived.

I didn't have language for this until recently. But I had a character who showed me what it looked like.

Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings has been my favourite character since I was a kid. I didn't fully understand why until now.

Aragorn is orphaned as a child. Raised in Rivendell. Hidden from his true name. He grows up as Strider: a ranger, a wanderer, a man without a home.

But the wound isn't that he lost his parents. It's what he inherited.

His ancestor Isildur had the chance to destroy the One Ring. He didn't. He was corrupted. He was weak. That weakness led to thousands of years of darkness.

Aragorn carries that story in his blood.

The question that haunts him isn't "Can I fight?" or "Am I brave enough?" It's deeper than that. It's "Am I destined to fail like he did?"

You don't just carry wounds from what happened to you. You carry wounds from what happened before you.

Family patterns. Ancestral shame. The fear that you're destined to repeat the failures of those who came before.

Your parents carried wounds. Their parents carried wounds. Some of those wounds got passed down without anyone choosing to pass them on.

The inherited story is the most invisible story of all. You can't see it because you've never known anything else.

Aragorn was the rightful heir to the throne. But for decades, he refused to accept it. He wandered aimlessly rather than face who he was.

He refuses to touch the Ring, not because he's being noble, but because he doesn't trust himself. He's afraid of what he might become.

Decision after decision is dictated by the core story of his life: "My bloodline is weak. Therefore I am not good enough to be king."

Inherited stories are powerful because they're not irrational. Isildur really did fail. The bloodline really is corrupted. Aragorn's fear is based on evidence.

That's what makes these stories so hard to escape. They're built on real patterns.

Aragorn doesn't overcome his fear by running away. He doesn't use affirmations or pretend his bloodline doesn't exist.

He accepts where he comes from and chooses to move forward anyway.

The turning point: Elrond brings him Isildur's sword, the sword that was broken when his ancestor failed. Aragorn could reject it. Instead, he takes it. He claims the inheritance. The darkness and the light. The failure and the possibility.

He walks the Paths of the Dead. He calls on the army of ghosts who betrayed Isildur. He doesn't shy away from his bloodline. He uses it.

Aragorn claims the throne not because he's certain he won't fail. He claims it because he chooses to act despite the uncertainty.

That's integration. Not certainty. Choice.

I was born into competition. My entire family loved it.

We would fight over who got to hold the TV remote. Monopoly wasn't a game, it was a relentless war. There were consistent arguments about which sibling was loved more than the other. Everything was a contest.

As I navigated college and the early pros, I realised I didn't compete for the joy of it. I used competition to test if I was worthy. The competitiveness wasn't about winning. It was about proving I deserved to exist.

Beat someone and I'm enough. Lose and I'm not.

I didn't choose this story. It was inherited.

My taking up the sword moment happened over dinner.

I was shitting on a bunch of players to Beth while we ate some home cooked chicken schnitzel. Even at the dinner table, I was using comparison to fuel my self worth.

Beth wasn't having it. She challenged me to do better. To be more. To grow.

Instead of using competition to test my worth, it was time to integrate it. To compete for enjoyment and satisfaction. To test what I'm capable of. Not to compare. Not to prove my right to exist.

The change didn't happen overnight. But grabbing the sword let me start the battle. And with each choice, the old story lost a little power.

I still compete. I still catch myself measuring my worth against others.

Last week I watched the opposition hit a few shots in the game and felt the old story flicker. The comparison. The test. Am I enough?

The difference now is I can see it. I can feel the sword in my hand.

The inherited story doesn't disappear. But once you know it's there, you get to choose whether it runs you or you run it.

I'm still choosing. Every day.

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