(57) Your Stories are Holding You Back

Daniel
Feb 20, 2019
6 min read

Updated: Jul 25, 2023

Face reality instead of telling yourself 'how it is.'

We love our stories, don't we: from the first humans around a campfire to our books, tv, and movies?

We love a good story so much that we even tell them to ourselves -- but not for entertainment.

A woman tells herself that her relationship is solid, that they are deeply in love, soul mates, and that his increasing distance is stress from work.

A man tells himself that the reason his boss has been treating him impersonally is because the company is going through a difficult time (with the economic downturn), but that his job is secure because it is essential for the company’s success.

How often do people tell themselves a story? *That noise in the car. It’s probably nothing;

*The Roof? It will be okay for the winter;

*Chest pains? No, they're not serious.

Self-stories are all about protecting ourselves from an unpleasant truth, as well as avoiding the need to take action. Admitting reality, on the other hand, keeps us from being caught short, caught by surprise, or caught devastated; and, it puts us in an enviable position of strength (a place from which we can act).

The man above can ask his boss directly, find out he is to be terminated and begin a job search today. The woman, rather than dragging out a failing relationship, can free herself to find the right guy, and facing the car noise, the roof, and those chest pains are better than not—always.

The problem, of course, is that our stories are so much a part of us, it can be difficult to separate them from reality.

Just Looking

(flash fiction)

Jan and I had been friends forever. While on a walk recently, she talked about her fiancé: how much he cared about her and how relieved she was, finally, to be in a good relationship.

When she paused, I asked her, “So, what's wrong?”

She frowned and shook her head.

I took a deep breath and said, “When you talk about him, your voice is, um, too cheery; and it has, well, an edge to it.”

She shook her head, and again asked, “What are you talking about?”

Later that night, she called and immediately said, “He won’t talk to me.”

I began to ask, but she was already saying, “We talk about absolutely everything superficial, but when I bring up something like his feelings for me, or having children or even sex, he suddenly changes the subject or becomes too busy.”

Over the next few days, she kept bringing it up, and we eventually realized that she had been telling herself a story, a story she desperately wanted to be true; a story that helped hide a frustrating reality that she did not want to face (breaking up and dating again).

Some weeks after that revelation, we were grabbing a quick coffee, when she said, “Admitting the reality of my story was hard, but it allowed me to make a much-needed change.”

Before I could ask if she was single again, she added, “I think it might be your turn.”

I hesitated and then quietly asked what she meant.

She crossed her arms and said: “Before, when I talked about my fiancé, my voice and manner were different. When you talk about your writing, you are different.

Cautiously, I asked, "How?"

She leaned forward and said, “I know how much you want to be a successful writer, but… well, at the beginning of a project, you sound excited and talk as if it were already a success; but I rarely hear that it has sold or even been finished.”

I glanced at my watch and was relieved to see that I had to leave, but Jan’s words stayed with me.

Over the following weeks, I began to see that I was clinging to a story. I had been telling myself that writing was a tough market; that my progress was as fast as could be expected; and that success was coming; I just had to be patient.

The reality was quite different: I was not writing nearly as much as was necessary, and I tended to let projects languish. I was also putting off difficult phone calls to editors.

It was during my struggle with this that I realized I was telling myself yet another story, about the good relationship I had with my children. Although we talked weekly, and sometimes got together, the reality was that they never called me first; and whether on the phone or in person, they only shared the surface of their lives.

The next time Jan and I met, I told her about my children. She said that she had also been looking at other parts of her life, and in her words, “It seems that when reality matches my desire, I don’t have a story. I just don’t need one.”

I have more thinking to do about this, but one thing I know for sure: admitting reality admits the possibility of positive change.

So

I guess this is the part where I am supposed to tell you to "Confront your stories! Accept reality!!!

But I can’t, because of that awful word —

Denial

A car suddenly jumped out from a side street. The moment the driver saw me, and my motorcycle, the instant she realized her mistake, she looked in the opposite direction (and never looked back). She didn't want to see the crash.

Some people use the word denial as an accusation, but is it really so bad? After all, nature took the trouble to hardwire us for survival, and isn’t denial just another form of self-preservation, another strategy for getting through life? Why would the woman in that car, or anyone else faced with pain, want to step wide-eyed into the harsh, cold, reality of it all, especially when the cocoon of denial is so warm and comforting?

You are probably already on your feet arguing that denial makes for an insecure foundation, for ineffective living, and you would be right; but there is one overriding truth that cannot be argued. In most situations, for most of the time, we can do nothing about our denial—nothing—because of that one blinding question: What denial?

Those two words are powerful enough to lock in what is (desperately?) needed and lock out everything else, and no mountain of clear logic nor ocean of passionate rhetoric will move us to see reality until we are ready.

And yes, most denial lasts longer than a momentary flinch from an oncoming motorcycle.

The crash? It was so close, I pulled over and sat on the curb shaking. She kept driving, probably convincing herself that everything was fine, A-Okay; what motorcycle?

Self-honesty? Effective living? Sure, why not? But until that glorious moment when the fog lifts, the sun comes out and our eyes finally open, all we can do is what we have always done.

Our best.

Lifting the Fog Sooner

Here is the key to knowing if I am facing reality or lost in denial: If I find myself explaining to myself 'how it is,' I know for sure it is not that way.

In other words, when reality matches my desire, I do not need to tell myself 'how it is.'

If you want to be sure you are living in the strength of reality, the fastest way is slowly, step by step.

Begin by repeating the bolded sentence above several times. Say it aloud, until it sinks in. And then begin looking for those self-explanations. If you find one, simply write it down -- with no need to do anything else.

When you feel ready for the next step, set your written story/explanation out on the kitchen table, under the remote, or in any conspicuous place. And go on with your life.

Each time you see your story, wonder about the reality underneath. As you do, breathe out any tension. Relax. And let the answer come to you easily.

Eventually, you will know the truth, but again, no pressure to do anything about it.

Over time, your need to act will increase. And when you finally do take action (big step or small, regardless of the outcome), you will be increasing your inner strength and stepping into a better life.