Why Understanding Your Story Matters
Your Story Matters: Understanding Regulates and Motivates
On my drive to work lately, I’ve been listening to some outdated music that my brother and I used to enjoy when we were younger. I would be embarrassed if anyone were in the car with me, except maybe my wife and kids. But if certain songs come on that we were jamming to in the Honda Civic with the subwoofer in the back circa 2003, I can’t stop myself from belting the lyrics as loudly as I can. These songs are in me. They’re part of me. My responses have their roots in the past, and those roots cause intense reactions in me in the present. They evoke emotions from that time period and cause me to act in ways that are uncomposed and atypical for me. You have your own versions of this, too, I’m sure.
Fortunately, my obsession with early 2000s hits is causing no disruption in my life. I welcome the rush of emotion and the resulting ridiculous, uncontrollable behaviors listening to them brings. I wish I could say the same thing about every emotion and behavior rooted in my past experiences.
But what if I weren’t aware that I liked that music because of my past? I know this idea sounds silly, but stick with me. What if I thought I was just the one weird-o jamming out to 2003 top 40 hits because it meant something about who I am as a person, rather than because of the experiences that shaped me? Well, I would feel pretty strange and out of place. I’d wonder what was wrong with me, why I’m having this response to music that others around me don’t seem to share. Or, maybe I’d wonder why everyone else doesn’t see the world like I do, and I’d blame them for being out of touch. How can someone not know every word to every popular Creed song?!?!
If we can’t make sense of why we do what we do or why others do what they do, we often determine that it’s the result of a character flaw or defect in ourselves or in that other person. This way of seeing our impulses, emotions, and behaviors doesn’t give us much hope for change in ourselves or others. Instead of seeing ourselves as someone who needs to be further mentored, taught, discipled, healed, etc., we see ourselves as someone who is fundamentally flawed or is always right, and either of those positions held too tightly brings any potential growth to a screeching halt.
When we don’t understand and accept our own stories, we will find that we constantly judge both ourselves and others. We will keep reading and listening to self-help advice or maybe even sermons, looking for tips and tricks to help us stop spending money, tell people no, take risks, hold our tongues, stop bad habits, express ourselves honestly, or tolerate other people’s bad moods. The advice helps, but it lacks valuable context. The tips and tricks are missing the emotional depth and detail that motivate us to continue with real, lasting acceptance and change.
A popular example of the disconnect that occurs when we don’t understand our own stories can be seen in individuals who want to improve at setting boundaries. Setting boundaries ultimately means being able to say no to things that make you feel uncomfortable, go against your values, or require time you do not have. The problem is, in setting a boundary, you risk making someone unhappy. Let’s say you recognize boundary setting as a personal struggle and read an article about how people who set boundaries and manage their time well are happier. (This is true, by the way.) So, you set out to implement the advice from the article, but it feels awful. You can’t stop ruminating about interactions after they occur. You’re tense, scared, and totally preoccupied with what you said and how it was received. You probably won’t try again.
But what if you add some context to that situation, recognizing — with the help of another — that your family, in an attempt to maintain a peaceful household, never modeled conflict? If anyone fought, it was
behind closed doors. Or, when there was “conflict,” the fight really consisted of three days of silence before everyone decided they were over it without any conversation or apparent resolution. That was your model. That external working model of conflict became your internal working model that you live by. Now you realize that you’re internally freaking out when it’s time to have some healthy conflict because of your past experiences with it.
Once you recognize and understand this component of your story, your current behaviors and fears make more sense. Now there’s context, understanding, and an emotional connection with the past that motivates you. When you can step into situations that require conflict, you can respond differently. Yes, your body is tensing up, your palms are sweating, and your internal monologue is screaming, “DON’T DO IT!” because you wisely adopted this rule to avoid conflict at a young age based on your experiences, but you have a much better chance of regulating yourself in order to practice something that is good for you now. If you don’t know your story, all you have is an author’s or podcast’s voice telling you that you need to do this for your own good. One has a lot more power than the other, in my opinion. Now you can take the blame off yourself for being “weak” and off others’ demeanors or attitudes as the reasons you can’t say no. You can even take the blame off your family because they, like you, were operating based on their own stories and internalized working models when they modeled that behavior to you.
It’s important to note that you’ll have to take action either way. Insight and knowledge of your story are no substitutes for actually setting important boundaries or taking whatever actions are needed. But it might be the case that the only way to take action, sustain change, and have grace toward yourself and others is by working with someone you trust, who can help you make sense of your automatic reactions, grieve the ways you’ve been hurt, own your mistakes, and take steps toward living with a sense of agency and vulnerability.
Like my understanding of my love for my favorite 2003 tracks, you can learn to recognize and accept that your emotional reactions have historical roots. You can learn to appreciate your reactions for how they served you in the past, but also acknowledge that they no longer serve you in the present. Then, you can choose to grow, updating your responses to fit where you are and who you want to be now.
