The Stories We Tell Ourselves

We all tell stories about ourselves to ourselves. Some are encouraging, some amusing, some remind us of what we survived and what we are capable of, and some quietly keep us from becoming the person we might still become. I hear these stories often in my coaching conversations. They go like this:

“I am too old.”

“I am not qualified.”

“I have never been confident.”

“I always quit.”

“I am not creative.”

“I am just not that kind of person.”

“I tried once before and it did not work.”

“This is simply who I am.”

“I am pretty sure I cannot change.”

“I don’t know.”

These words may be spoken casually, but they are rarely harmless.

Each one carries a conclusion. Each one closes a door. Each one turns something that happened, or something someone said into a permanent declaration about what is possible now.

The troubling thing about the stories we tell ourselves is that they do not always sound like stories. NOPE! They sound like facts. We have repeated them for so long that we no longer think to question them. They have become a part of the internal description we carry around. This is who I am. This is how I behave. This is what I can expect. This is where my possibilities end. I am who I am. But where did these stories come from? Perhaps a teacher once made you feel that you were not smart. Perhaps a parent cautioned you not to expect too much. Perhaps a partner made you question your worth. Maybe your workplace overlooked your contribution or one failure became evidence that you would always fail. Or perhaps no one said anything directly. You simply interpreted an experience, created a story to explain it, and continued repeating that story long after the experience passed.

On the flip, some of these stories may have protected you. “I don’t put myself out there” may have protected you from criticism. “I am better off doing everything by myself” may have protected you from disappointment. “I don’t really want it” may have protected you from the possibility of trying and failing. “I am too old” may protect you from becoming a beginner again.

We should not shame ourselves for creating protection when we need it. But we should notice when protection has become confinement.

A familiar story can feel like home even when it has become a cage.

I see this with clients who are standing at the edge of something new. I can see their intelligence, experience, creativity, compassion, resilience and enormous potential.

I want to remind them of their fabulousness. If I am being completely honest, I want to shake them back to reality. Lovingly, of course. I want to say: “Can’t you see what I see?” They are not seeing themselves as I see them. They are looking through the lens of an old story. They may say they want to change, but the old belief system has become a comfortable nest. It may be cramped. It may no longer fit. It may even be keeping them from the life they want.

But it is familiar.

The unfamiliar can be frightening.

Leaving the nest means testing our wings. It means entering a space where we may not feel immediately competent. It means risking disappointment. It means letting go of the identity we know before we are completely certain of the one we are becoming. So, sadly we remain where we are and call it reality.

A story may contain some truth without containing the whole truth. Maybe you did quit something. That does not mean you are a quitter. Maybe you experienced a failure. That does not mean you are a failure. Perhaps you have spent years putting others first. That does not mean your own time has passed. Perhaps you have never felt confident doing something unfamiliar. That does not mean confidence is unavailable to you.

Remember one experience is not an identity. One decision is not destiny. One chapter is not the entire story.

An old story does not become more truthful simply because it has been repeated for a long time. Awareness is the work. Before we can change a story, we must first hear ourselves telling it.

Listen for the sentences that begin with: I always, I never, I can’t, I am not, I’m too…, or that’s just who I am. Notice how quickly those words place walls around your possibilities.

For now simply notice. Hold the story where you can see it. Turn it over. Ask where it came from. Ask why you kept it. Ask what it has protected you from. And then ask the question that may change everything.

What has this story cost me?

Has it cost you an opportunity? A relationship? A dream? Your voice? Your confidence? A version of yourself you have never allowed to emerge?

So, I think you see now that the story may explain where you have been. But it does not automatically earn the right to decide where you go next. That decision still belongs to you. Perhaps the moment you recognize the story as the story and not as a fact or a verdict, and not a life sentence, that is the moment you begin to loosen the bars of the cage.

You do not have to fly today.

But you might begin by remembering that you have wings.

💚 The Accidental Blogger