The Sweet Potato Incident

Okay, story time.

Years ago, I was part of this yoga collective. Picture it: a very purple studio above a nail salon in East Hamilton. The vibe was “warrior goddess meets strip mall.” I was teaching there alongside these incredible women—powerful, athletic, graceful creatures who could hold a headstand while discussing chakras and probably solving world peace.

I was inspired. Also, very much in the imposter syndrome club.

One day, we’re getting photos done for the studio website. The photographer has us all lined up, and one of the instructors—let’s call her Trish (not her real name, but very much her energy)—starts running through compliments for everyone.

“Sarah, you’re so strong and elegant.”
“Michelle, your energy is absolutely radiant.”
“Karen, you have the grace of a dancer.”

Then she gets to me.

“And Kristan,” she says, beaming, “you are just the cutest little sweet potato.“

I smile. The camera clicks.

And inside my brain, a full-scale catastrophe unfolds.

The Spiral Begins

A POTATO?

I look like a POTATO?

Is it my face? My body? Is this a height thing? Are potatoes known for being short? Should I Google “sweet potato physical characteristics”?

Friends, I went DEEP.

I decided—right there, in that purple studio, while trying to look zen for a website photo—that this woman had just confirmed my worst fear: I was not graceful. I was not athletic. I was not goddess-like.

I was a round, sturdy root vegetable.

And not even a cool one. Not a beet with its dramatic colour. Not a carrot with its vitamin A bragging rights or wild hair-like greenery up top. A sweet potato. Round. Orange. Starchy.

I folded that story up, tucked it into my emotional baggage, and carried it around for years.

Plot Twist: I Made The Whole Thing Up

Here’s the thing that took me an embarrassingly long time to realize:

She meant it as a compliment.

She was saying I was cute and warm and wholesome. She was being nice.

But I heard it through the filter of my own insecurity and turned it into a full prosecution case against myself.

Evidence Exhibit A: Woman called me a sweet potato.
Evidence Exhibit B: Sweet potatoes are round.
Conclusion: I am fundamentally unworthy of love and success.

Your Honour, I rest my case.

Except… none of that was real. It was just a story I told myself. A thought I chose to believe. An interpretation I created out of thin air.

She said, “sweet potato.” I made it mean “you’re not enough.”

Why This Matters (And Why I’m Telling You About Vegetables)

Because we ALL do this.

Not necessarily with sweet potatoes (though if you have a sweet potato story, please share it immediately—I need to know I’m not alone).

But we do it with everything.

Someone says “interesting choice” about our writing, and we decide we’re terrible writers.

Someone doesn’t text back right away, and we decide we’re annoying and should never speak again.

Someone gives us constructive feedback, and we turn it into a 47-slide PowerPoint presentation titled “Why I’m a Fraud and Should Quit Everything.”

We take one tiny, neutral moment and create an entire saga about what it means about us.

And then we carry that saga around like it’s the truth.

We let it dictate our decisions. We let it keep us small. We let it stop us from finishing the book, launching the offer, showing up fully in our lives.

Why? Because we’re terrified someone will confirm the story. That they’ll look at us and say, “Yep. Definitely a sweet potato.”

The Freedom in Seeing It

Here’s what changed everything for me:

Realizing that I created the story. Not Linda. Not the universe. Not some cosmic force declaring my potato-ness.

Me.

I chose the thought. I created the meaning. I wrote the narrative.

Which means… I can also choose to put it down.

I can decide that “sweet potato” was just a quirky compliment from a woman who probably says things like “you’re a precious little dumpling” and “bless your heart” without a trace of irony.

I can decide it didn’t mean anything about my worth, my body, or my place in the world.

I can decide to stop casting myself as the tragic potato in the story of my life.

And once I do that? I get my power back.

Your Turn

So here’s my question:

What’s your sweet potato?

What story are you carrying around that’s keeping you stuck?

What did someone say five years ago that you’ve turned into evidence that you’re not good enough?

What offhand comment have you twisted into a reason to play small, stay hidden, or not finish the thing that matters most?

Here’s the truth: That story isn’t real. You made it up. And you can put it down.

Right now.

You can decide that the thing you’ve been carrying doesn’t get to run your life anymore.

You can decide that someone else’s random comment doesn’t define your worth, your talent, or your future.

You can stop being the sweet potato and start being the person who does the thing anyway.

The Actual Work

This is the work, by the way.

Not the hustle. Not the perfect system. Not the colour-coded calendar.

The work is noticing the stories. Seeing them for what they are—just thoughts, not facts. And choosing better ones.

It’s identifying the exact thought keeping you stuck on that unfinished project. The novel sitting at 60,000 words. The business you keep planning but never launching. The thing that’s been haunting you for months (or years).

Because once you see the story, you can rewrite it.

And once you rewrite it, you can finally finish the thing.

Okay, your turn. Drop your sweet potato story in the comments. What narrative are you ready to put down? Let’s laugh at our chaos-thoughts together. 🥔