The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Exploring the narratives we create in our mind to make sense of the world.
There’s a moment in all of our lives when we catch ourselves mid-thought — realizing that the narrative running through our heads isn’t necessarily true. Maybe it’s an old belief, an inherited fear, or a self-imposed limitation disguised as fact.
Our minds are wired for stories. They help us make sense of the world, shape our identities, and define what we believe is possible. But what happens when the stories we tell ourselves are outdated, distorted, or even harmful?
The Power of Inner Narratives
The concept of "the stories we tell ourselves" isn’t just a metaphor, it’s how our brains function. Research in neuroscience and psychology shows that storytelling activates more brain regions than simple facts, embedding memories more deeply and making them feel real.
We don’t just recall events; we interpret them, weaving them into narratives that shape our self-perception and decision-making.
Our personal stories give meaning to our experiences, but they can also become traps. A childhood moment of embarrassment may grow into a lifelong belief of “I’m not good at public speaking.”
A series of professional setbacks may turn into “I’m not cut out for leadership.” These stories become the lens through which we see the world—and ourselves. And yet, we rarely stop to ask: Is this story even true?
The Impact of Storytelling on Our Lives
The framework for "the stories we tell ourselves" is rooted in the psychology of narrative therapy, developed in the 1980s by psychotherapist Michael White and narrative theorist David Epston. Dr. Lewis Mehl-Madrona of the Coyote Institute, also pioneered its use among indigenous populations.
At its core, this concept refers to the beliefs and narratives we construct about ourselves, others, and the world. These stories are not always consciously chosen. They are shaped by upbringing, cultural influences, past experiences, and societal narratives. Some stories empower us. Others limit us. And often, we accept them without question.
Stories don’t just exist externally; they live inside us. They shape our reality, pass down knowledge, and define our perceptions. We use them to explore our values, build relationships, and create meaning from our experiences.
Beyond their function in memory and learning, stories hold deep power over our subconscious. They help us navigate uncertainty by filling in gaps in our understanding, often creating patterns where none exist. This ability enables us to make sense of the world, but it also leaves us vulnerable to cognitive biases, misinterpretations, and self-sabotaging thought loops.
What Are We But Our Stories?
It’s easy to think of stories as something external — things we read in books, tell over dinner, pass down through generations. But our most powerful stories are the ones running quietly in the background of our own minds. They define who we are, what we believe, and how we move through the world.
We are meaning-making creatures, constantly weaving together experiences to create patterns — even when those patterns don’t actually exist.
Our brains fill in the blanks, smoothing out inconsistencies, finding connections where none were intended. It’s an incredible survival mechanism. But it also means that what we believe to be true about ourselves isn’t always based in fact.
How many of our stories are inherited rather than chosen?
How many have been shaped by someone else’s fears, projections, or expectations?
And more importantly, how many do we continue to carry, even when they no longer serve us?
We Can’t Live Without Our Stories
Without stories, we would struggle to navigate life. We wouldn’t be able to interpret our experiences, communicate our emotions, or understand the motivations of others. Storytelling is essential to human connection and survival.
But stories can also become cages. A lack of narrative structure can lead to emotional distress, isolation, and even mental health challenges such as depression and anxiety. We need stories to function—but we also need to recognize when they are limiting us instead of guiding us forward.
“Who are we but the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, and believe?” – Scott Turow, Ordinary Heroes
Reimagining Our Lives and Our Stories
If you reflect on everything we’ve explored so far, one truth becomes clear: our stories are not fixed. They can be questioned, rewritten, expanded. The most important ones—the ones that shape our identities—are not set in stone.
We use stories to explore our values, make sense of our past, and envision new possibilities. Through narrative, we can redefine our perspectives, take action toward new goals, and shape a reality that aligns with who we truly are.
Rewriting a story isn’t easy. It requires sitting with discomfort, untangling old narratives, and—perhaps hardest of all—being willing to admit that the story we’ve told ourselves might not be the whole truth.
Changing the Stories You Tell Yourself
What we tell ourselves shapes what we believe, which in turn affects how we act. Often, we limit ourselves before we even try. Changing that requires uncovering and rewriting the stories that no longer serve us.
To begin, find a quiet space, grab a journal, and reflect on these questions (originally created by David Epston):
Who am I without the story?
What stories do I tell myself that are no longer serving me?
What new stories can I create to live a more fulfilling life?
How can I create more space in my life for possibility and change?
What do I need to let go of in order to create a new story?
What do I need to do to make my story come alive?
By asking ourselves these questions, we can cultivate self-awareness and reconnect with parts of ourselves that have been silent for too long. In this space, new stories can emerge—ones that align more closely with our true nature and potential.
What’s The New Story You’re Going to Tell Yourself?
The reality is, we don’t just have one story. We have hundreds—maybe thousands—running through us at any given time. Some are whispers, some are loud declarations. Some are rigid, some shift depending on the day. Some lift us up. Others keep us small.
So the question isn’t just, What’s the story I want to tell?
It’s also, What’s the story I’ve been avoiding? What happens if you step outside of the familiar narrative?
What if you stop telling yourself the old, well-worn version and sit in the uncertainty of something new?
You can’t stop your brain from creating stories. But you can choose which ones to believe.