The Stories We Tell

The Stories We Tell

Humans tell stories. It’s how we learn, how we entertain, and how we justify our actions and those of others. Stories have been used for time immemorial to explain the unknown or to keep us safe. Oral traditions kept our histories alive and were a communal way of knowing. For example, why we don’t eat certain vegetation. “That particular mushroom killed Frank years ago. And it was a terrible way to die. I didn’t see it, but my grandfather did”. Cautionary tales like The Boy Who Cried Wolf were told to keep children from exaggerating and being consumed by predators. These well-known stories were early equivalents to our modern Urban Myths.

But what about the stories we tell ourselves? The everyday events that unfold and the way we attribute the actions of others to a certain motivation without truly knowing. We take the information that we do have, as scant as it may be, and weave it into narratives that suit our needs. Frequently, we do this without being aware of what we’re doing. This ability to tell ourselves stories comes from childhood and follows us into adulthood. It explains why we were chosen last at dodgeball or why our dad yelled at us. Our brains aren’t satisfied with not knowing. Our brains need to create stories to make sense of the world. But they’re not always true.

Let me give you an example. I work at a mechanical shop. I am the lone female employee at the moment. I have worked there for 10 years and I know more than I ever would have imagined about vehicle repair and tire sales. It is rare for a week to go by without me answering the phone and at least one person will ask to: a) speak to a man; or b) speak to someone in sales/parts. The story I used to tell myself is that these people are misogynists or that they felt that I was incapable of helping them strictly due to my sex. Maybe that’s true. But I don’t know! I have a part that writes whole elaborate stories about these situations that I call the Narrator. This part is trying to protect me and anticipate problems and potential injury.

Here\’s the trick though: I don’t have to let my Narrator run the show. I can help my Narrator rewrite the script to one that makes me feel less defensive and more generous. But first one must recognize that it is a story. Instead of assuming that these people think I don’t have the competency to sell them a set of tires or brakes, I can write them a more positive script. Perhaps they’re just used to dealing with the men I work with and assume that I’m new. Or maybe they really do believe that someone I have trained can help them better than I can; so what? It\’s no skin off of my nose if they feel that I am not as helpful as the men I work with. I know my worth and it isn’t determined by someone who doesn’t know me.

 My coaching practice focuses on helping clients overcome Imposter Syndrome, which when you get right down to it, is a story or series of stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves, the world, and the people around us. “Who would want to learn that from me?” “The other candidate is so much better qualified than me.” “I messed up again – there’s no coming back from that.” Imposter Syndrome works with our Narrators (or whatever name you give to the story-telling part of you) to keep us small. It may think it’s protecting you by risking rejection, failure, hurt, etc. Safe generally, means that you’re not growing or developing into the person you are meant to be.

What stories are you telling yourself that are keeping you from fulfilling your potential?