Try changing the story you tell yourself

The notion that we tell ourselves stories to make meaning from our lives seems to be coming up everywhere lately. That has me reflecting on the power of stories I’ve gotten attached to and how they’ve defined me.
For example, I describe myself as having been a good kid and an A student in school. Which is sort of true. I skipped a grade, took honors classes and graduated in the top 20 of my class.
But I was also something of a troublemaker. I got bored easily, and when I did, I’d talk with classmates, which got me sideways with teachers more than once. It’s actually how I skipped a grade. I was bored and disruptive in kindergarten, and my principal recognized I wasn’t just a discipline case. Later, I often failed to do my homework, mainly when I saw it as time-wasting busy work.
I’ve been pondering where I might be in my 40s if I’d spent my life thinking of myself as a troublemaker who blew off homework instead of as a good kid. Would I have had the audacity to apply to a top 10 MBA program?
Related, many journalists I know are attached to the story that reporters are terrible at math. I started pushing through that cliche when I became a business reporter and had to understand financials. If I’d held onto the “journalists are bad at math” story, that probably also would have deterred me from business school.
What you believe about yourself affects what you think is possible for yourself.

Do you listen to the stories others tell about you?

A friend shared that when he learned to manage the money he needed for his creative pursuits, his friends balked, telling him he wasn’t a business type, he was a creative.
How many either-or labels can you think of? You can be creative or good at business, pretty or smart, strong or sensitive – but not both.
Imagine breaking free of limiting stories that don’t serve you, stories that might be generalized cliches or you’ve simply outgrown them, only to get yanked right back by people who purport to care about you.
Change is scary for some people. Even if they’re unhappy, at least they feel like they understand the familiar landscape.
If you challenge a narrative that they also identify with, then that might mean the story they tell themselves isn’t true, either. If that’s not true, what else isn’t true?
World. Exploding.

Green_Eggs_and_Ham — **“Green Eggs and Ham”** might be the ultimate children’s book about the stories we tell ourselves. You think you don’t like green eggs and ham, but are you sure? Check out more from Dr. Seuss –>

Mind you, I never say, “I don’t have children and you’re a terrible person if you do.” This is the choice that’s right for us, but like renting versus buying, paper or plastic, dogs or cats, early bird or night owl, what’s right for you might be different.I have experienced this when I’ve told people I’m vegetarian, or that we don’t have children. People I barely know can get hostile, sometimes telling me why my choices are incorrect while defending their own lifestyle.
Here’s how I sometimes silently translate when a woman I barely know scolds me: Wait a minute! I was led to believe all women must have children. I have sometimes wondered what my life would have been like without kids, but no one told me that was an available choice. If parenting was actually optional, I might have to examine the path I didn’t choose and that’s uncomfortable, so I’d rather convince you childbearing is mandatory.
Humans are pack animals and we like cohesion in the pack. Sometimes it’s helpful to have a loved one notice you’re drifting off in a harmful way. But you have the option of doing things differently. Including finding a different pack, if necessary.

Why does the story matter?

You create the interpretation for sensations you experience. It’s not objective truth.
For example, an elite athlete might feel their muscles pushed almost to the point of collapse and think, “I am reaching peak performance! This is what I excel at.” I might feel that same level of exertion and think, “I’m not sure I can do this, I’m afraid I’m going to hurt myself. I should ease up.”
One person might feel butterflies before public speaking and think, “I’m so nervous, this is terrible!” while I might feel the same adrenaline rush and think, “I’m so excited! I can’t wait to do this.”
In the very same circumstances, we can attach different meanings, which come with emotions, which influence whether we continue down that path.
If you try something new and think, “This is hard, I must not be good at it, I should stop,” you’re less likely to enjoy developing a new skill than if you think, “This is completely unfamiliar. I have so much to learn.”

How can you can listen for the story you tell about yourself?

I’m especially interested in the stories we tell that might not serve us well, so try listening for:

“I’m terrible” or “I’m the worst” – I often hear this when someone makes a relatively minor error, like forgetting to answer a friend’s text or showing up late for lunch. Preempting legitimate criticism, you go to 11 with a declaration of your failings as a human.
- Try instead: Apologizing in a way that’s proportional to the misdeed. Take ownership. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting” might feel more uncomfortable than the hyperbolic “I’m the worst friend!” because on some level, you know the exaggeration isn’t true and you’re sort of fishing for the response, “No, you’re not.” But what if those exaggerated labels stick in your head?
“I never” or “I always” – You make a mistake and label it with generalized self criticism like, “I’m always late for everything” or “I never remember people’s names.” Always/ never language makes it feel impossible to change, and why would you try if you’ve already decided you always/never do things a certain way?
- Try instead: Try acknowledging the frustration or difficulty, while opening up an interest in changing. Something like, “I haven’t been good at remembering names in the past, so if you hear me repeating yours a few times, it’s because I want to get better at this,” or “It’s so frustrating when I lose my keys. I need to figure out a better place to put them.”
“I could never” – I think of this as blocking the exit doors. I often hear it after someone’s allowed some big dream to go public, so it’s time for excuses about why that’s not possible. To my ear, they’re often flimsy, but I think the idea is to preserve the status quo, not overcome obstacles.
- - Try instead: Instead of what can’t happen, could you open up to possibility? “Wow, running a marathon sounds hard! I’m not sure I could put in all that training time at this point in my life, but I do love the idea.”

What stories do you tell yourself about what you’re good at, what you’re bad at and what’s possible? Can you try on a different story to see if there’s another way to see yourself?