Stop the “If Only” Story and Come Home to Now

Every mind has a favourite storyline, and it usually begins with “If only…” and ends with a polished fantasy of happiness that never quite arrives. Yet beneath those looping narratives there is a quieter truth: you are already whole, already connected, and far less alone than your thoughts suggest. 

The trap of “if only”

So many inner monologues revolve around the same refrain: “If only he were different… If only she did this… If you hadn’t done that…”. These mental scripts promise that if other people, or the past, would finally cooperate, life would fall into place and happiness would be secure.

Yet believing these stories tends to coincide with the hardest moments: you feel uneasy, fragile, irritated, and strangely trapped inside your own mind. In that state, judgement flares — towards others and yourself — and you keep waiting for someone else to do that something that will finally make you feel safe and content.

How stories disconnect us

When those narratives take over, they create a mind of not-having – a constant sense that something essential is missing, right now. Try to relate to another person while inside that story and the conversation quickly shrinks into accusations and defensiveness: “Why didn’t you…?”, “You should…”, “You make me…”.

As both people retreat into their private scripts, neither can see the other as they truly are in this moment. The result is a vast disconnect: between your thoughts and reality, between who someone really is and who your mind insists they must be, and ultimately between you and your own genuine self.

Turning the same story on yourself

The mind uses the same pattern inwardly: “If only I’d done this… If only I were stronger… If I could just stop believing my stories, then I could finally be at peace.” This looks like self-improvement, yet it often breeds alienation and shame, leaving you feeling unworthy of care because you have not yet met your own impossible conditions.

So you wait: for the right person, the right timing, the right action, the perfect version of yourself that will supposedly unlock real peace. In truth, this waiting room is another story — polished, persuasive, but fundamentally disconnected from the living, breathing presence that is here now.

Stopping: returning to the present

The turning point is disarmingly simple: stop – and be present. When you pause and notice what is actually here, you discover you are already present, already resting in a deeper peace, already holding an inner abundance that your stories keep overlooking.

Each time you remember this, you see those narratives more clearly as your stories in your mind, rather than objective reports about other people or about who you truly are. From that recognition, the question arises: if these are just stories, what do they really have to do with your deepest being?

Meeting stories with tenderness

Sitting quietly with your stories allows them to be seen, felt, and gently released. You touch a tender inner space that is happiness already – a quiet, enduring peace that does not depend on anyone behaving differently or on your past being rewritten.

At first, stepping out of your narrative and into this open space can feel painful, like leaving the cramped familiarity of a small, dark room. Yet there is also a softness here – a natural generosity that lends you both strength and grace as you loosen your grip on old patterns.

Discovering the inner abundance

In this inner room, nothing is missing, and there is plenty to give. Love abides here, not just for the people you once believed should be doing more for you, but also for the parts of yourself that have long felt unworthy or overlooked.

Compassion, loving-kindness, and sympathetic joy arise as natural qualities of this presence, not as forced practices or moral obligations. As they emerge, the sense of being alone softens into a feeling of togetherness that can hold both your struggles and those of others with equal warmth.

From lonely to connected

Even when you are physically by yourself, resting in the present moment can bring a profound sense of union with all beings. You recognise that others, too, are walking around with their own stories, fears, and longings – and this recognition dissolves the sharp edge of isolation.

Because you no longer need anyone to be any particular way for your comfort, you can appreciate them as they are, right now. That appreciation naturally generates love, and moving through the world with that much love makes you kinder to others and, crucially, to yourself.

Caring for your stories like children

Letting go is rarely a one-time event; it’s a process. Sometimes your stories are so loud and convincing that you tumble straight into them, believing every word until the spell breaks.

At other times, you can see these narratives as small children calling for your attention; you can hold, rock, and soothe them until they settle into a peaceful sleep. The more you rest in your own heart, the less those stories define you, and the more easily you can smile — even at strangers — because the sense of shared humanity feels unmistakably real.

A gentle invitation

Again and again, the practice is not to fix the story but to notice it, to pause, and to step, however tentatively, into the present that is already here. From that place, what might change in the way you see yourself, and how might your next encounter look if you met it without needing anyone, including you, to be different?​

Read Online: How to Step Out of Your Stories and Into the Present