“Bad Blood” is one of my favorite X-Files episodes. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a bit of a departure from the usual deep-conspiracy “I want to believe” storyline—and even from the creepy and often disturbing “monster of the week” episodes.
The tone is a total left turn: campy and weird and downright funny. But what I really love is the story structure.
The episode finds FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully being debriefed by their superiors following a case that went wrong in Texas. Mulder has just killed a pizza delivery boy in the line of duty, and he claims he was acting in self-defense against a…vampire. Scully—the skeptic on the team—has a much more “rational” view of events.
As they each tell their own side of the story during the debrief, the viewer sees the events acted out according to the obvious bias of the teller.
In Scully’s version, Mulder bounds into her office like an over-excited golden retriever, shouting about vampires in Texas. He drags her away from actually important work to investigate the outrageous claim on site, where they meet the local sheriff (played by Luke Wilson; in Scully’s version, Wilson’s sheriff is suave, handsome, and extremely helpful). They investigate. Throughout the retelling, Scully is thoughtful, Mulder is hot-headed and chaotic, leaping to completely impossible conclusions.
In Mulder’s version, Scully is unreasonably dismissive of his extremely rational and respectful suggestion. Throughout the investigation, she repeatedly refuses to see the obvious truth—partly because she’s obsessed with Luke Wilson’s sheriff. (Who, in Mulder’s version is a buck-toothed yokel that’s hindering the investigation at every turn.)
All of the actors do a fantastic job switching back and forth between over-the-top versions of their characters, depending on who’s telling the story.
It’s an unexpectedly funny episode, which is delightful. But the reason I love it is because it clearly illustrates how each and every one of us has our own perspective on events, and how our individual biases color how we see the world around us.
One person’s suave sheriff is another’s uncultured hillbilly. One person’s twitchy, suspicious pizza delivery boy is another’s harmless, hapless teenaged food service worker. One person’s polite request is another’s rude demand.
But it’s not just that we each experience a slightly different world than everyone else by nature. Our biases (and experiences) also change day-by-day with our mood.
When I’m in a good mood and hear my husband whistling softly to himself, I find it charming. When I’m in a bad mood, I start to wonder whether whistling is a justifiable excuse for murder.
(I’m pretty sure it’s not.)
And this phenomenon doesn’t just effect how we experience things in the moment—a change in perspective can color how we remember past events.
Which is what we’re going to talk about today.
Most years, I do an annual review of my business. I sit down with my goals from the beginning of the year, list out my accomplishments, and compare where I thought I’d be with where I ended up. I recalibrate metrics, I figure out where I need to double down, I consider pivots.
Unfortunately, the last few years have thrown me so many curveballs that it’s rendered this process completely pointless.
2023 was brought to a screaming halt by my eye injury. In 2024, I recovered and regrouped, building my business back up to where I felt like I could make stable plans again—only to have 2025 say, “lol. Girl, no.”
When I considered sitting down to review this year, it felt exhausting and useless. I hadn’t accomplished a fraction of what I planned. Business-wise, I’d pivoted so many times it felt like I’d ended up in a whole other zipcode.
Looking back at 2025, all I could see was failure, failure, failure.
So I decided to see if I could do something about my point of view.
Instead of a business year in review, I decided to do a storytelling year in review. I didn’t worry about my goals or plans or accomplishments. I just sat down and told myself the story of what happened this year, with the same level of non-judgmental compassion I would have if I was listening to a friend tell me the story of their year.
I recounted the tale starting in January, where a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Jessie leapt onscreen full of energy and passion and new goals. I told myself the story of the series of gut-punches she sustained in February and March—her husband’s layoff, the death of a dear friend, the energetic black hole of a business venture going sideways.
And then I told the story of the many try-fail cycles she went through in a quest to get through the following thorny months. The business pivots. The investments in mental and physical health. The relentless commitment to finding a path forward.
I mapped my protagonist’s progress, describing how each try-fail cycle took her one step closer to the promised land.
(She may not be there yet, but she’s at least found a stable ledge to rest on for a moment.)
It took me about 90 minutes. And, at the end, I had a very different view on 2025.
Instead of being a year I wanted to throw on the scrap heap so I could start over, I recognized it as a year that showed me just how resilient I can be. How fiercely I can fight for the things that are important to me. How I’ve grown to trust my own gut and decisions.
Look. I don’t know what you went through this year, but I know I’m not the only one who had a difficult 2025.
If you’ve found yourself wanting to junk it and start over, too, can I invite you to take a pause? Tell yourself the story of your year: the highs and lows, the wins and recalibrations, the struggles and the gifts.
Maybe it’ll help you the same way it helped me.
I don’t know what next year will bring, but I know one thing: If you’re reading this, you’re still standing. Which means you’re stronger than you think. And you’re in good company here.
Take care, friend.
And reclaim your story. After all, you’ve earned every piece of it.
Want to go through the same framework? Check out the Your Year in Story course, where you’ll learn a repeatable framework for uncovering powerful stories from any season.
