How to Keep Your Stories from Running Your Life

The stories we tell, particularly those we remain unaware of, can profoundly shape who we are and the decisions we make. Recognizing our stories and how they influence the way we relate to others is a sign of growing self-aware and a foundation of mindfulness. But it can be difficult to separate ourselves from our stories unless we are conscious of them and understand where they come from.

We are all natural storytellers; it's how we organize our inner worlds. We spend much of our time encoding information into frameworks of meaning that we use to interpret and predict social events, relationship experiences, and outcomes. Even now, you are probably mentally narrating your reaction to the last sentence. Stories have been used for thousands of years by indigenous peoples to pass along everything from hunting knowledge to navigation, values, and traditions. They are as central to our identities as the names we were given.

The next time you're stuck in traffic, riding the bus or subway, or waiting in line, pause for a moment and notice what's happening in your mind. There's a good chance you'll find yourself knee-deep in some story. It might be a replay of an article you read in the newspaper over breakfast, planning for the weekend, or re-enacting a conversation. Either way, it's a story, and there's likely another one running through your mind even as you read this. That's some pretty advanced multitasking.

 

How We Develop Our Stories

We begin creating stories very early in life. Developmental psychologist Jean Piaget, best known for his work on the four stages of cognitive development in children, proposed that children are like "little scientists" who conduct an endless series of tests in an attempt to make sense of the world. Between roughly ages two and seven, children are in what Piaget called the "preoperational stage." During this stage, children enter a continuous flow of imitation where they try on different roles to see what fits. If you watch them closely, you'll notice they usually narrate their play with elaborate stories. Adults do the same thing. The only difference is that our stories typically happen inside our heads and influence our behavior in more subtle ways.

Most of the core stories we create about our identities were shaped by the perceptions of parents, teachers, and other important people; the more consistent the feedback, the more powerful the story. As we move through adolescence and into adulthood, these personal narratives become woven together, forming the fabric of who we are and how we inhabit the world. They also fuel the kinds of experiences and relationships we seek out, both confirming and refuting our beliefs and expectations. More often than not, we seek out information and gravitate toward environments and situations that reinforce our personal narratives, a phenomenon known as "confirmation bias." These biases can have an enormous influence on how we see ourselves and who we become.

When I was in elementary school, my older brother was labeled a math genius. He was the student who got perfect scores in math without cracking a book, and he received a great deal of recognition for it. I realized early on that, despite my own interest in math, he was the designated genius, which made me the "non-genius." Over time, this identity became part of my personal story. It not only shaped my behavior but also had a significant influence on the academic and career choices I made early in my adult life.

By the time I reached high school, I disliked math and didn't choose electives because I was "bad" at it. Over time, this story of being "bad at math" became a limiting belief that steered me away from pursuing a career in science. It was only through my overwhelming desire to pursue a master's degree in psychology and the support of a wonderful math teacher that I eventually discovered I had become quite proficient in math. Through practice and perseverance, I shattered the myth and rewrote the story. Even so, the original myth of being "bad at math" still takes hold when I feel challenged by a difficult math problem. In other words, stress triggers these stories even when we believe we've already rewritten them. There's almost a sense that they've been carved in stone. Even after we erase and replace them, they can still emerge to the surface, particularly when we're feeling frightened, overwhelmed, or anxious.

Not all narratives are negative or harmful, and they certainly aren't untreatable. We live out stories one way or another, some limiting and others empowering. Psychologists Geoffrey Cohen and David Sherman discuss a mindset in which individuals see themselves as strong, capable, resilient, and able to overcome challenges, what they call a narrative of personal adequacy. In an analysis of the impact of self-affirmation on behavior, they found that positive self-affirmations can and do positively impact outcomes in health and relationships, sometimes for months or even years. On the other hand, negative narratives can lead to devastating consequences and long-term self-fulfilling prophecies. In the words of psychologist Abraham Maslow, "if the only tool you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail." The more you cling to a particular belief, the more power it has over you.

Why Stories Matter

Our stories don't develop in isolation. They are shaped by years of social interaction, some positive and some negative. Humans tend to remember painful events more frequently than pleasurable ones. For example, we're generally more likely to remember a critical comment than a positive one, a phenomenon known as negativity bias. Research confirms that negative events are typically more noticeable and are remembered and recalled more accurately and with more detail than positive ones. Human language provides an excellent reflection of this. Studies with Western adults have shown that we possess more complex and elaborate language to describe negative emotions and experiences than we do for positive ones. These negative experiences don't need to be traumatic to be impactful, but we tend to remember them with exceptional detail and more readily than positive events. This is particularly true when these emotionally charged incidents occur in the context of a relationship.

Why are these stories and personal narratives so important? By the time we reach adulthood, these stories and identities are literally wired into our brains after years of rehearsal. This means they are commonly inflexible and are characteristic features of our mental and emotional landscape. We have also, either inadvertently or consciously, become attached to their content, and we generally are no longer able to recognize that they are, in fact, just stories. Because of their strength, their habitual nature, and the fact that they are deeply tied to our identity, we become particularly susceptible to living them out when we are taxed, or when we feel stressed, tired, anxious, overwhelmed, or frightened.

 

Becoming Aware of Our Stories

Despite our stories influencing our perceptions and reactions, we are not destined to live them out. We are, however, much more likely to rely on them as lenses of perception when we are chronically stressed, emotionally reactive, or operating on autopilot. So learning to manage stress is the first order of business.

When you begin to pay attention to your mental chatter, you'll probably discover that the stories you tell seem to have no end. It's how the mind works, an incessant stream of commentary. Michael Singer, author, essayist, and renowned contemplative educator, suggests that paying attention to this voice is an essential step toward freeing ourselves from it. "The best way to free yourself from this incessant chatter is to step back and look at it objectively. As if someone is standing there talking to you. Don't think about it, just notice it," he suggests. But that's easier said than done, particularly when we're stressed, tired, and overwhelmed. This happens because this voice is very responsive to stress. The more anxious, frightened, and pressured we feel, the louder and more persistent this voice becomes. It's like having a hungry baby in the candy aisle of a supermarket making noise inside your brain. The more you ignore it, the more it protests until it gets your attention one way or another.

Research shows that we have the capacity not only to quiet the chatter of our stories, but also to reduce our stress, rewire our brains, and transform our relationships by responding to them differently. This is one of the hallmarks of mindfulness, gently learning to observe and be present in our bodies, minds, and experiences without judgment. But to make this happen, you first need to learn more about the stories you tell.

Exercise: Identifying Your Personal Story

Take a few minutes to write down the personal story of your identity. You can use simple descriptive phrases like "I am tough," "I put others before myself," "I'm good at math," and so on. You can also choose to write about your experiences, family beliefs, or other influences that helped shape how you see yourself now. Once you've listed your beliefs about yourself and identified some of your stories, look at each one and ask yourself the following questions:

1. Where did this story come from?
2. Is this story mine or does it belong to someone else?
3. Is this story true about me right now?
4. Is this story contributing to or hindering my happiness?
5. Do I choose to continue living this story, or is it time to write a new one?

The most effective strategy for working with your personal stories or adjusting your mindset is to observe your thoughts objectively and refrain from clinging too tightly to them. More importantly, it's essential to remember that you are not your story and that it does not define you. These narratives are a stream of thoughts that keep flowing through your mental database endlessly. It's part of being human. It's up to you to be aware of these stories and decide whether you want to live according to them or not.

Originally published at mindful.org