My Thunder Thighs

Photo by jjpacres via flickr

We all have stories in our heads, stories that we tell ourselves about who we are, about our place in the world, even about other people. These stories are influenced by our experiences, thoughts, and feelings.

The thing about the human brain is, it doesn’t like to not know things. Often, rather than admit it doesn’t know something, it will make up a story to fit the situation. The result is that we assume we know the fact about something because we are literally not conscious of the fact that we don’t know. (Before you go thinking I’m all sciencey and know stuff about stuff, I’m reviewing a book about the brain, ok? It’s pretty interesting.)

But we tell ourselves these stories, whether it’s that we’re good at spelling, or a bad parent, or a lazy fatass slob who will never amount to anything, and those stories color our interaction with the world, with every single aspect of the world. Those stories in our heads   influence how we think and feel about every single thing that ever happens to us. They prompt us to do things we wouldn’t do without the story, or keep us from doing things we would. They raise our hackles when no offense was meant. They keep us repeating the same patterns over and over and over, because patterns are what is easy, patterns are what is comfortable.

A simple example? When I was younger, my mom always told me that I had a terrible singing voice (actually, she still tells me that). As a result, I rarely let anyone hear me sing, regardless of how much I enjoy singing. I never tried out for show choir, even though I would have absolutely loved it (I ended up working backstage). I don’t even sing in the car if anyone else is with me.

There have been a few times in my life, though, that other people have heard me sing–road trips with friends, generally speaking–and I always warn them what a terrible singing voice I have. Every single one of them has told me it’s actually not that bad, and that I basically need to get over myself.

Another story that I have playing in my head, one that has a far greater impact on my life, is that everyone is out to get me. Not in a huge conspiracy, paranoia kind of way (because I actually don’t believe that people are out to get me), just that no one is on my side. If someone suggests I do something a different way, they’re not trying to help: they don’t trust my judgment or ability. If someone asks me what I had for breakfast, it’s not because they’re hungry or trying to think of new things to eat for breakfast; they’re accusing me of being fat and eating too much.

The stories we use to interpret our lives may or may not even be true. Perhaps the person suggesting how to do something has done it in the past and is suggesting what they’ve found to be the most efficient method. Perhaps the person who asks what I had for breakfast thought my breakfast smelled really tasty, or knows that I am health-conscious and is looking for healthy things to eat.

What would happen if we could re-write those stories? Once we recognize we have that filter, we can then, theoretically, call it into question to see, 1) if it’s even true, and 2) if it is helpful. Where is the evidence of this being true in my life? Do I have any evidence that suggests this is false?

More importantly, we can ask which story we would rather believe. Do I want to go through life believing that I’m a horrible singer? Frankly, I don’t know that that one really matters so much, but do I want to go through life thinking that everyone is out to get me, that no one is on my side, and that every person I meet is just trying to knock me down? What good could possibly come from that belief?

Stories are there to protect us, to guide us. Believing that I can’t sing a note keeps me from embarrassing myself in public. Believing that everyone wants the worst for me keeps me from feeling the sting of rejection. (That’s the theory, anyway.)

But those stories were made up years ago, when I literally didn’t know. Now that I do know, shouldn’t I be able to write my own story, one that benefits me, one that defines the person I want to be?

It’s time for me to start believing that maybe some people are on my side. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to sing.