Good or Bad, Owning Your Life Story

A while ago, I had to chew on something that felt heavy, at the time: how fast this world tries to shrink us.  Of course, this thought didn’t come to me randomly. In fact, someone who doesn't know me and wanted to have a conversation asked what I did for a living, then ended up asking me something that made me write this post.

All our messy, beautiful layers—our dreams, our scars, our late-night revelations—flattened into a single question:

“What do you do?" -I answered his question.

The next question was: "Oh, and what qualifies you to do that?"

I could have asked the exact same question; but I always choose my words and try to channel my energy.

But man, those questions sting. Not because I don’t know who I am—I do. It’s the absurdity of it. The expectation to squeeze a lifetime of grit and grace into a tidy little box. An elevator pitch. A LinkedIn blurb. A soundbite for a world too rushed to listen.

But let’s be real: those questions aren’t about your job. They cut deeper. They’re asking for your story, your essence, and whether you dare to claim it without apology.

Here’s what I know, what I feel in my bones: What qualifies us isn’t a degree or a title. It’s how we live, how we show up. It’s the way you listen when someone’s breaking, the way you notice the small things others breeze past. It’s how you’ve fallen hard, picked yourself up, and stayed curious when it would’ve been easier to shut down.

My own path—cooking, writing, creating, wandering through every emotional and spiritual landscape I could find—it didn’t come from a diploma or some golden stamp of approval. It came from staying awake. From choosing to feel the weight of it all, even when I wanted to close my eyes and coast.

So when someone tries to reduce your life—our lives—into a résumé line or a neat category they can swallow, here’s the truth I hold onto (and maybe you need this too): You don’t owe anyone a tidy explanation. Your truth—raw, unfiltered, and gloriously complex—is enough.

When they ask, “What qualifies you?” don’t shrink. Don’t scramble to fit their mold. Just stand in your own knowing and say, with quiet fire:

“I get why you’re asking. But here’s the deal: I’m qualified because I’ve lived it. I’ve earned this perspective by showing up for my life, every messy, beautiful moment of it.”

There’s nothing arrogant about owning your depth. It’s courage. It’s honoring the detours, the dead ends, the unexpected blooms that make you you.

So if you’ve ever felt yourself shrinking under those questions, watching your story get squeezed to fit someone else’s comfort zone, hear this: Your life isn’t a bullet point. Your creativity isn’t a footnote. Your path, with all its twists and turns, is your qualification.

And that? That’s sacred. That’s the only credential that matters.

Going back to the moment I was asked the infamous question, I was taken aback, for a second. But I did answer: "Because I am me. My life is my qualification"

Next time someone asks what qualifies you, let them feel it—the quiet, unshakable truth in your chest: “I’m here. I’ve lived it. I’ve paid attention. I’m still creating, still standing, still refusing to be reduced.”

That’s your answer. That’s your truth. And trust me, it’s more than enough.

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