The Importance of Your Story – Part 1

Each life is a story.

I am confident that I am not alone in having conflicting feelings toward my story so far. Reflecting on my past, I can swiftly conjure an extensive inventory of moments of which I am less than proud. If you are anything like me, my mind is quick to remind me of my failures, atrocities I’ve committed, and times that are downright embarrassing. Thanks, brain. I love you too.

I have noticed that when I am already feeling bad about myself is when I am most prone to recall, often in staggering detail, previous bits of my life that support my abysmal self-assessment. This ruthless cycle, fueled by my good friend, confirmation bias, leaves me feeling defeated, weak, and full of doubt. The shame spiral is real.

What is frustrating about this pattern of self-condemnation is how insidious and manipulative it is. Sure, I have made some very poor choices over the years, and there are segments of my story that rightfully prompt guilt and remorse. However, the argument my mind presents that I have done nothing but make mistakes and, therefore, am a mistake is straight up malarkey. There are two glaring issues here.

First, when I’m in my state of WOPB (wacked out poo brain), thinking I’m a wretched failure, I am not considering all the evidence. My brain has been very selective in which memories it presents. I end up with a hyper-fixation on my shortcomings, excluding any and all evidence of the contrary. Even when faced directly with current evidence of why my faulty thinking is, indeed, faulty, I expertly dismiss it as inconsequential and irrelevant. I build an extreme argument of bleak implications, constructed with exclusively false assertions, and then I believe it. It’s like going to build a castle at the beach, but instead of taking from the ample supply of sand, locating a pile of dog poop negligently left behind and using THAT to build the world’s crappiest castle.

The second problem here is the assumption that I am what I do. If I have done something bad and feel genuine remorse for it, I can allow that feeling to prod me towards making things right. While I still feel crummy, I recognize I have the power to choose restitution. This requires a healthy measure of openness and humility. Submitting to the constructive energy of guilt, I maintain a boundary between myself and the offense I have committed.

My extreme brain is not satisfied with mere guilt. If I admit my fault and seek to make things right, I am refusing some tantalizing bait. The trap I can easily fall into here is shame. This is the belief that the bad thing I did is simply a confirmation that I am bad. As much as I love Batman, he gets it wrong in Batman Begins when he asserts: “It’s not who I am underneath, but what I do, that defines me.” That right there is a recipe for shame.

When I succumb to shame, I fall prey to an onslaught of comorbidities. If I convince myself of my own defectiveness, the way I operate is going to be skewed. Faced with a challenge, I am more likely to anticipate failure. Assured of a dismal outcome, I might even unconsciously self-sabotage or begin shying away from challenges altogether. Over time, I teach myself how to be helpless and hopeless.

Wait, it gets better…

but not yet.

A fallacy to which I unknowingly subscribe as I float down the river of despondency is that shame hurts only me. I beat myself up, have a little pity party, and it’s no big deal. I have achieved my final form: a soggy, worthless slug. But I’m not bothering anyone.

A spirit of listlessness and irresponsibility begins to develop in this process. In my shame, I may be aware of when I’ve hurt another person. This awareness is not one that includes empathy and sorrowful remorse; it is more matter-of-fact, disconnected from the emotional weight. The paradox here is that I am feeling both everything and nothing. I am consumed by all of my pain, so I cannot take any of yours. I am a broken being (a slug, remember?), so I ought to be absolved of responsibility for my actions. I just can’t help it! If anybody deserves empathy, it is me.

Phew, let’s take a respite from this grim theme.

Okay, that’s enough.

The way I view myself is largely dependent on past experiences, but more importantly the way I interpret those experiences. I, for one, find myself particularly prone to shame. This is something against which I continually wage war as I grow in self-awareness and seek to embody the truth of who I actually am.

Now, another person could have identical experiences to me, but respond in a seemingly opposite way. In contrast to my stance of defeatism and low self-worth, someone else might adopt a stance of inflated capability and worth. The kicker here is that both stances are rooted in shame. Both are extremes and, therefore, not representative of reality.

Another antithetical response to my propensity for over-emphasizing negative life events is that of bliss in ignorance. One could swing the other direction and minimize the painful chapters of his or her life. It’s easier to just pretend those things never happened. I’m a beast and those petty inconveniences didn’t affect me all that much. I can’t let slip any semblance of weakness as a man, right?

In this moment, I’m having a bit of an epiphany. I can see how I may be more biased towards gloom and doom. This presentation may produce a mental visage of me as mopey, weak, and overly-sensitive. Plot twist: I can be all those things AND more. However, I see how I am not immune to acting out the opposite end of the spectrum as well. I can flip between the two from day-to-day, hour-to-hour, moment-to-moment. I have an unnatural affinity for humor, which can actually act as an escape from pain, suffering, misery, and woe. By joking about my suffering, I raise a façade that I’m unabated by and above my misery.

Are you still there? I did not intend this post to be so long.

Let’s land this plane, shall we?

In summary, extreme perspectives in life are largely unhealthy. Your story is not all bad, nor is it all good. Life is not black and white. If we’re being astute, it’s generally more gray.

“Life is gray.” I should end this post right here. Yikes.

The idea here is that your story has high points, low points, and a whole lot of points during which you’re folding laundry, drinking room temperature water, emptying the dishwasher, etc.–a whole lot of gray. And gray is okay.

The dark parts of your narrative do not define who you are. Nor do they discredit the good things you have done or undermine your cherished memories.

Your past does not dictate your future. We do ourselves a disservice by pretending our past does not have an influence on our present choices and attitudes, but it need not rule over us. We are capable of change if we choose it.

I commission us to have the courage to take an honest look at our past. Let us gain constructive insight about ourselves and use it to refine and transform us into men of integrity.

“God is able to make all grace abound to you so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” 

2 Corinthians 9:8

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