We invent stories to help us first understand and then prepare for the world. Sometimes the stories we tell are accurate and sometimes they aren’t. The problem, unfortunately, doesn’t lie completely in the accuracy of the story; it often lies in the act of storytelling itself.
As handy a tool as story telling is for making sense of the world, conjuring up tales can cause a great deal of harm. Story telling often keeps us from seeking the truth. It can damage relationships. And if done with enough frequency and bile, it can kill us.
In case you think I’m overreacting to the possible dangers of storytelling, allow me to point out that the phenomenon that has recently taken center stage of the law and drug enforcement arenas. We learned this in a recent interview with the head of a very successful rehab program in San Francisco. She told us the following.
When candidates are screened to see if they’ll be admitted to the program, she asks them to share how they got to where they are. If a fellow explains that his mother was a crack addict, she remarks that perhaps his mother should be entering the program. If the candidate counters with the fact that his dad beat him almost daily, she explains that surely his dad should be the one being interviewed.
The leader of this successful program isn’t trying to be glib or clever as she continues to nudge the candidate every time he blames someone else for his horrible life. She’s merely trying to learn how willingly the person will tell a new story—one where the person takes most of the responsibility.
“As long as people going through rehab are able to blame others for their problems,” she explains, “they have no need to change. Their stories keep them trapped in the current circumstances. You can’t change people until they change their story.”
Given the power that stories have over our lives, it can be helpful to know how we create them.
To avoid damage to our psyches we become good at telling a whole host of stories. Some are aimed at preventing disappointment while others are aimed at keeping our image intact.
For example, if we get into a heated argument and spin out of control, we let ourselves off the hook by explaining that we were innocent victims. We didn’t do anything wrong—oh no, we were on our best behavior when the other person lashed out at us.
When we are caught behaving in rude, insulting, ways we tell a different story. We take the heat off ourselves by vilifying others. Consider the limit case. Career criminals often justify their actions by suggesting that the people they steal from don’t deserve the money. They’re selfish tax-evaders who probably stole the money in the first place. We create villainous stories so we can treat others poorly without feeling guilty about our own actions. To quote a supervisor I once interviewed, “Of course I shout threats at my employees. They’re animals. They only listen to threats.”
Finally, when we’ve stood by and done nothing to rectify a wrong, when our inaction puts our integrity into question, we tell helpless stories. “What? You want me to disagree with the boss in the meeting—and get fired? Not me. Nobody can disagree and live to tell about it.” Stories that suggest that no effort will be enough help us transform gutless inaction into political savvy. We tell ourselves, “I wasn’t afraid, I just wasn’t naïve.”
And now for an interesting twist. If we tell the stories with enough creativity and conviction, the part of our brain that prepares for blunt trauma actually believes our story. Even though we’ve only imagined that something bad is about to happen, or that the other person is a villain and deserves whatever we give them, we actually pump adrenaline into our blood stream and prepare for the threat as if it were real.
Under the influence of adrenaline, good things happen if we run into, say, a saber tooth tiger. Blood is diverted from our less-important organs such as the brain to the muscles that will help us run and jump and hit and otherwise engage in fight or flight activities—against the tiger. Bad things happen to us if we run into, say, our spouse or coworker where neither fight nor flight is required. Our brain, running low on fuel, goes into backup mode and mostly shuts down the cerebral cortex—or the part we use for higher-level thinking. Now our brain draws more heavily from the lower half—also known as the “reptilian brain.”
So when it matters the most, we come up with stupid ideas. “He’s resisting my recommendation. Maybe if I raise my voice, become belligerent, and overstate my point he’ll come around to my way of thinking.”
So what’s a person to do? Rather than always preparing for the worst or imagining the worst of others—maybe we should keep an open mind. Instead of vilifying others, we simply wonder what’s going on. We’re not sure what’s going to happen, so let’s find out. This does two things: It propels us to discover the truth, and it keeps us from angrily charging in with an accusation.
So, replace your ability to conjure up stories with a genuine desire to learn the truth. If you do so, you’ll take charge of your emotions, improve your health, and bolster your relationships. It may not be as fun as thinking horrible thoughts, but it’s a lot more effective.
This article was written by the authors of the NY Times Bestsellers “Crucial Conversations” and “Influencer”.
Sign-Up for your FREE CD: