The Stories We Tell

There are facts. And then there are the stories we tell about the facts.

Perhaps the most important thing that illusive “postmodernity” has done for us is to help us see that our lives and decisions and emotions and responses are driven by our interpretations of the world as much as they are by the facts that those interpretations are trying to make sense of.

The Failure of Smart

Yesterday I heard about a study that had been conducted. Science students were told one of a few different narratives about “great scientists.” Some were told stories of their brilliance. Some were told stories about how hard they had to work, moments of near failure, and obstacles that had to be overcome.

The results?

Students who heard the “brilliant scientist” stories did worse in science class. In fact, some good students started doing worse than they had been doing before. Conversely, students who heard the “worked hard” stories did better, and poor students started performing better.

No facts had changed. The work hadn’t gotten harder or easier. The students hadn’t gotten smarter or dumber. What changed was the narrative: either science is for people who are brilliant (and I don’t qualify) or science is for people who work their butts off (and anyone can do that).

In fact, this is a more focused version of research I had heard previously: the worst thing in the world we can do for a kid who does well in school is to praise them for how smart they are. If we praise “smart,” then when something challenging comes along the narrative tells them, “this is the limit of my smart.” If we praise them for how hard they’ve worked, however, then when something challenging comes along the narrative tells them, “I’m going to have to work hard here, too.”

Narratives are so powerful they literally have the power to determine our successes and failures. Often in ways that we are completely unaware of.

Becoming Aware

Yes, narratives have power over us. Oftentimes our narratives have more power over us than the facts. This is why so much of what happens when people go to therapy includes creating different stories about the things we experience.

I read once that the greatest fear that provokes anxiety attacks is the fear of having an anxiety attack. As someone who has a few situations in which I have to fight off panic attacks, this resonated deeply with me.

So what happened when I went to get help with this? We reframed what was happening:

This is discomfort, not danger (I don’t actually need to be afraid of anything)
It’s o.k. to feel nervous (it’s not a sign that something overwhelming and embarrassing is going to happen)
Just ride the wave (the surge always passes, you’ll still be here when it does)
I’m o.k. right now (I don’t need to be in some other place or situation to be o.k.)
It’s a victory to come through an attack (not a defeat to have had to fight it off)

The narratives we tell ourselves have tremendous power. They can be life-sucking or life-giving.

Richard Rohr’s latest, Falling Upward, is an invitation into a different, life-giving story about the lives we lead. He speaks of failure and suffering as the great teachers that have a power to make us into the people we have always longed to be–a power lacking in the success we strive for and so highly prize.

Our narratives are so powerful that they fool us into thinking that the thing is the thing: The failure is failure. The suffering is debilitation.

But in reality it is often what we say and think and believe about the thing that truly is our driving source and power. For good or for ill.

I will explore this idea a bit more in a couple of subsequent posts, but for now I think it’s worth asking,

“What are the narratives I know I have to fight against, that I need to be actively rewriting?”

And, “Where am I stuck, and what might this be telling me about a narrative I’m unaware of that needs to be retold?”