Answering “Who Am I?” Begins With Unlearning Who You Were Told to Be

I wrote this talk in July 2025 but have never delivered it. This is the talk I would give.

I invite you to either recall, or envision, the moment your baby was born.

As you embrace your baby, you feel their soft skin pressed against yours… smell that newborn scent that we humans seem hardwired to love. Life is full of possibility, and you're in awe. Everything is perfect, for now.

Suddenly, at two years old, your baby is violently ill. They can't stop scream-crying. You've tried it all. Nothing helps. You rush to the hospital. The doctor says:

“Your child has meningococcal meningitis. A life-threatening bacterial infection causing swelling in their brain and spinal cord. We don't know if your baby will survive. We'll try one of these antibiotics. But we don't know which one will work. You choose.”

My own mother was left standing there, hands trembling, surrounded by nurses. Forced to make a decision no parent should ever have to make. Thankfully, she chose the right one. That moment saved my life.

But I didn't walk away unchanged. I lost my hearing so severely that doctors told my parents I would never speak verbally again. And yet, here I am.

Hi, my name is Kimberley Karstunen, and I'm here to help you defy your odds and come home to yourself.

This moment was the beginning of something bigger than survival. It was the moment my story could have been written for me, but instead, my parents made the choice to change the script handed to me. They refused to accept the version of me the world expected. And in doing so, they taught me something I'd spend years learning over and over again: that to answer the question “Who am I?”, we must unlearn who we were told to be.

So we started to rewrite it. We put in the work, from reflexology to speech therapy. Some days it was slow. Some days it felt impossible. But we kept going. And eventually, I began to speak.

Imagine how different my life would be if they hadn't challenged that story. I wouldn't be standing here with you today, using my voice to remind you: you can change the story you've been told. And not just the story others put on you, but the one you've started to tell yourself. Because the people around you and the stories you inherit shape your reality. And unless we question them, they define who we think we are.

It wasn't an easy path

I remember walking past a group of girls in elementary school. They'd mime talking with no sound, pretending my hearing aids didn't work. They thought it was funny. And they'd repeat it. Day… after day… after day. I was furious. Not just at them, but at how powerless I felt. I started believing that maybe I really didn't belong. That maybe I was different. That maybe… I had to change to be accepted.

One day in class, we made “happiness collages,” a collection of everything that brought us joy glued onto paper. You were supposed to rip off a piece whenever you felt sad, angry, lonely, any heavier emotion, so the teacher could silently check in on you. After that incident, I wanted to rip the whole thing apart, shred every single piece. But I didn't. I quietly tore off a small corner. Just enough to let out a bit of the pain, without drawing too much attention to myself. My teacher checked in, but I stayed silent, smiled, and tucked the pain away.

That's the thing about change that we often overlook: it can be loud inside of you, and silent to everyone else. And that inner shift, if left unchecked, can slowly pull you further away from who you really are. When we're forced to compartmentalize parts of ourselves to feel safe or accepted, we start to disconnect, first from ourselves, then from the people around us.

So let me ask you: Where in your life have you silenced yourself because of something that happened? What disconnection did that create in you? And how has that changed your relationships, with your family, your friends, your coworkers… even yourself?

For me, that disconnection led to confusion, isolation, and feeling empty. The more I tried to change myself to fit in, the more disconnected I felt from who I really was. I started believing I wasn't enough, so everything I did became about proving myself. Things had to be perfect. If they weren't, I wasn't happy. I was stressed. Overanalyzing everything. I stopped myself from speaking my truth. I held back from taking big leaps. I even hid who I was or where I was at in life, because I was scared of being judged.

But that fear wasn't the truth. It was a narrative I had inherited from people, systems, and experiences. And I realized: if a story can be learned, it can be unlearned. If a narrative can shape us, it can be rewritten.

Change isn't about becoming someone new. It's about letting go of who you were told to be, so you can come home to who you already are.

If a story can be learned, it can be unlearned.

Lighting up what's already inside of you

Let's begin right now. Who inspires you? And why? What is it about that person that lights something up in you? Chances are, what you admire most is a reflection of what already lives within you. It's not that you're lacking. It's that somewhere along the way, someone told you who you weren't. And maybe you believed them. I did too.

Have you ever caught yourself thinking, “Why did I just say that?” “Why did I do that?” and then cringed a little inside? Me too. Those moments might seem small, even awkward, but they're actually clues. Not to judge yourself, but to understand yourself.

So I want to offer you a simple three-step practice that changed how I relate to myself:

1. Pause. When that cringe shows up, pause. Not to fix it. Not to spiral. Just notice it. That moment is trying to tell you something.
2. Listen. Ask yourself gently: where did that come from? What was I feeling underneath the action, was it fear? Insecurity? Wanting to belong?
3. Write it down. A full journal entry or a quick phone note, whatever works for you. Start capturing the patterns in those moments.

Because beneath every reaction there's usually a story. And beneath that story there's usually a belief. Maybe it sounds like:

• “I can't mess this up, they'll think I'm not good enough.”
• “If I really said what I feel, I'd lose them.”
• “Everyone else has it figured out, I'm so behind.”
• “I don't want to be a burden.”
• “They only love me when I'm useful.”

But here's the truth: those beliefs are not you. They're borrowed narratives, things you were told, or picked up somewhere along the way. And if they were learned, they can be unlearned. This isn't about judging yourself. It's about becoming conscious of the unconscious stories running the show, so you can begin to choose differently.

Choosing what's uncomfortable

One story that was almost instilled in me was the idea of always choosing what's comfortable, staying inside the realm of safety. I remember my audiologist kindly telling me she wouldn't recommend noisy work environments. She said I'd be more comfortable somewhere quiet. But here's what I heard: “Apply for noisy jobs.” Turns out, I'm not only deaf, I have selective hearing too.

So, what did I do? I went for one of the noisiest, fastest-paced jobs I could find: onboard host for the Rocky Mountaineer, a luxury train where I spent two seasons commentating on Canadian history and geography. I wanted to connect with people, really communicate and fall in love with the human experience.

So I want to ask you: where in your life have you been told you couldn't or shouldn't do something, even in a small way? And what might it look like if you did it anyway? That's become an anthem for my life now.

In fact, it's what led to one of the biggest changes in my life. While beginning my third year at university, two weeks in, I heard a loud voice in my head: “Drop out… drop out… drop out.” At first I thought I was going bananas. Who hears that kind of foghorn during class? But then I realized: this wasn't noise to ignore. It was my intuition, my inner self calling me to something different. And I did what any sane person would do: I listened and dropped out.

That decision scared me, but it also lit something inside me. I couldn't stop smiling when I thought about my new possibilities. Now, I want to be clear, this isn't a knock against university. Many people thrive there, learn deeply, and grow into their purpose. I completed two years and am so grateful for that time. But for me, stepping away was about following my unique path, listening to what felt true for me, not just what I was “supposed” to do. And that choice changed everything. It led me to start my own business, where I now coach others, helping leaders and employees come back to themselves by reimagining how they communicate, grow, and lead.

Here's what I've learned: discomfort isn't danger, it's often a sign of growth. Most of the time, it wasn't the situation itself that scared me, it was the story I'd made up about it. Each time I leaned into discomfort, I discovered I could handle more than I thought. Even when I slipped and fell flat on my face, I learned, adjusted, and came back stronger. Now, I see discomfort as a guaranteed tool for growth.

Coming home to yourself

Coming home to yourself means being able to pause, asking yourself what you need, and then actually following through. It's the ability to live your truth: “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.” Flipping the script and reconnecting with myself helped me move from confusion, chaos, frustration, and depression to clarity, peace, calmness, and fulfillment. Coming home to yourself is radical acceptance of your whole self, with clarity, courage, and peace.

So I want to leave you with this: you were never meant to become someone new. You were meant to remember who you already are, before the world told you who you weren't. The moment you start to ask, “Who am I, really?” is the moment you begin coming home. Not to a place. Not to perfection. But to yourself. To your truest voice. To your deepest truth. To your most unshakable worth.

I'm not here because I followed a script. I'm here because I changed the one I was handed. And so can you. Thank you.