My “stupid girl” trigger got tripped

An Everyday Lesson in Releasing Old Beliefs

During a recent trip to Chicago, I had a surprising chance to reflect on how far I’ve come in releasing old beliefs. I tagged along on Matt’s business trip so we could explore the city and see some of my favorite Ippies: Jim, Christiana, and Emma Herbert.

On Thursday, we toured the Art Institute of Chicago (did you know it’s the second-largest art museum in the country after the Met?). My husband and I were the only ones who signed up, so we got a private tour. A happy little manifestation. 😊

Near the end, in the contemporary art section, our guide asked: “What color is the yield sign?”

My brain blurted: “Yellow.”
He paused. Tilted his head. “I’ll give you one more try.”

Matt said, “Red and white.”
Oh. Right.

The guide explained that yield signs haven’t been yellow since the 1970s. But I barely heard a word after that. My face flushed, ears ringing. Embarrassment. Shame.

But not because I got it “wrong.” And not because anyone made me feel bad.

It was the “stupid girl” trigger—an old story that still knows how to sneak in when I least expect it. My reaction wasn’t about what happened, but about what I made it mean.

The moment became a perfect, in-the-wild example for the Trailblazer class I’m teaching—how our emotions can be signals that we’re seeing through the lens of an old, outdated belief rather than the truth.

Thanks to years of doing this work, I took a few long, slow exhales. I felt my feet. Looked at the art. Heard the guide’s voice again. And when I was grounded, I spoke to myself with love: 'This is just an old tape.' You’re not stupid. You’re safe. You’re smart. You belong.

The actual factual data? I answered a question incorrectly. That’s it.
Neither Matt nor the guide thought twice about it—and I didn’t need to either. So I let it go.

But years ago? That moment might have replayed over and over. I would’ve shrunk. Filed it away in the “why I should keep quiet” folder. But this time, I told the story to my class—and I laughed. Because that’s who I am now. I can take myself less seriously and tell the truth.

And maybe this is your reminder too:

When we overreact, it’s usually an old belief trying to get our attention, so we can finally let it go.