When people come to me for coaching, I often find that they don’t have a purpose problem—they have a meaning problem.

Purpose is forward-facing. It’s about the actions we take today and tomorrow that bring us energy and aliveness. Meaning, however, is retrospective. It’s the story we tell ourselves about our past—and whether that story leaves us feeling like we are enough.

And here’s the heartbreaking truth: For many of us, the story we tell about our past isn’t heroic. It’s one of failure, disappointment, or victimhood. And that story becomes the biggest barrier to change, fulfillment, and happiness.

That’s why, when someone tells me they feel stuck or not enough, the first place I often look is their childhood trauma.

They often resist at first. “But I had a good childhood,” they’ll say. “There was no trauma.”

That’s when I tell them about Lila and David.

The “Big T” Trauma: Lila’s Story

Lila grew up in Iran during the 1979 revolution. Her father supported the Shah, and when the regime changed, he was killed. She and her mother fled to the United States, seeking safety, but instead found poverty, culture shock, and exclusion.

To survive, Lila learned she had to outperform. She had to get better grades, speak perfect English, and outwork and outshine everyone else. And she did. As an adult, she became a wildly successful entrepreneur, built a seven-figure business, and accumulated immense wealth.

But inside, Lila was anything but fulfilled.

She couldn’t stop working. Even when her job threatened her marriage, alienated her from her children, and corroded her friendships, she couldn’t let go. She stayed on what I call the achievement treadmill, desperately chasing security—financial and emotional—that never quite arrived.

Her trauma, though long past, was still steering her present.

The “Little t” Trauma: David’s Story

David is also a workaholic. A high-level executive, he works 90 hours a week, never married, has no close friendships or hobbies, and has millions of dollars in the bank.

He’s lonely. Burned out. And completely stuck.

When I asked about trauma, he shook his head. “Nothing too terrible. My childhood was fine.”

But then he remembered third grade.

He struggled with multiplication tables and was mercilessly teased by his classmates. For a year, he felt stupid, excluded, and humiliated. He wasn’t abused or displaced—but in that moment, his brain recorded a narrative: You are not enough. You have to prove yourself.

That single season shaped everything that followed. It birthed the same workaholic drive, the same compulsive need to succeed, and the same inability to stop—even when the costs were devastating.

The Point: Trauma Is Functionally Equivalent

We often differentiate between big T trauma (death, abuse, war, displacement) and little t trauma (bullying, parental neglect, failure). But when it comes to how these experiences shape our identities, behaviors, and capacity for joy, the difference is often irrelevant.

Why? Because your trauma is the only trauma you know.

To your nervous system, the story you’ve internalized is real, no matter its origin. Whether it started with a revolution or a playground taunt, it’s your narrative that determines how you move through the world.

And that narrative, over time, either supports you—or traps you.

The Crisis of Meaning

The journey to healing, then, is not just about uncovering trauma. It’s about rewriting the story we tell about it.

Happy people tell themselves a heroic story about their past.

Unhappy people tell themselves a victim story.

The trauma may remain the same, but the meaning shifts.

Lila told herself a story of fear: If I stop achieving, I’ll be unsafe again.

David told himself a story of inadequacy: If I slow down, I’ll be humiliated again.

But both could choose a different narrative.

One of survival, strength, and resilience.

One that acknowledges pain without being ruled by it.

Rewriting the Story

This work isn’t easy. We’re not just changing behaviors—we’re changing identity. That’s why many people need help, whether through therapy, coaching, journaling, or deep reflection.

But the starting point is this: Recognize that your trauma, no matter its form, matters. It shaped you. But it doesn’t have to define you.

Because meaning is not what happened to us. Meaning is what we make of what happened to us.

And that’s where freedom begins.