This blog post was written by Bryan Bushman, Ph.D. from The Counseling Center.
Without a doubt, the past influences the present, but how do we prevent it from defining us? Yes; the past influences our perceptions and reactions, but it doesn’t have to be our destiny. It doesn’t have to define us.
When it comes to our past, we are natural story tellers. We can’t help it. When something bad happens, we have to tell ourselves a story, and – like any good story – the stories we tell ourselves include bad guys and good guys. They also include morals or lessons, like why the bad thing happened or how the bad thing can be avoided in the future. Some of the stories we tell ourselves are accurate and helpful, while others can be biased and hurtful.
What will our story be?
There are two kinds of stories we tell ourselves: there are growth stories and there are contamination stories.
“Maybe this is just who I am,” John (not his real name) sighed in despair as we discussed his seeming inability to control his anger. Like his father before him, John would become easily flustered by the age-appropriate behaviors of his young children. “What does that mean?” I said, wondering if such self-talk served John’s anger but not his interests. “You know. Maybe people don’t really change,” he said. “Kind of like your father?” I replied. “I guess so,” was his only response as the energy and motivation he felt previously evaporated from the room.
Contamination stories, like the one John rehearsed to himself, are contaminating because they infect all other perceptions. Soon no coping technique, new relationship or medication will help. John felt fated to become his father. Much like a disease, contamination stories are viral; they spread with the telling. The more we rehearse our contamination stories, the more we become emotionally invested in them. Soon, we would rather be “right” in our despair than hopeful in our possibility.
In contrast to contamination stories, growth stories assume we are not stuck, broken or unfixable. Instead, growth stories are about learning and possibility. Things are not predetermined, and we are not prisoners of the past. As long as blood still pumps in our veins and air still fills our lungs, growth is possible. The kind of story we tell ourselves makes all the difference because the kind of story we tell ourselves (i.e., growth vs. contamination) predicts – with amazing accuracy – how the story will end.
“Contaminated”: It’s the New Sexy
If what I’ve said is true, then why do we tell (and re-tell) contamination stories to ourselves and others? Why do such stories stick? The first (and overly simplistic) answer is because it’s easier. If we accept the premise that we’re screwed, then we don’t have to work to be un-screwed. But we aren’t screwed; we’re scared. Scared of being disappointed again. Scared of feeling sad when things don’t work out. Scared of believing that change is possible. So instead, we accept the low-hanging fruit of believing that our fate is sealed. This is surrender, but it’s a bitter-sweet surrender. Sweet because we no longer have to risk disappointment; bitter because we also surrender our freedom to choose. We are rescued from our fear of disappointment and seduced by the promise of predictability. Contamination stories slowly wrap us in a suffocating blanket of psychological inertia since psyches without motion – just like bodies without motion – tend to stay without motion. Our personal story soon becomes a mental straight-jacket that is impervious to any suggestion, medication, relationship, or even stroke of good fortune.
But there is a second reason why people rehearse stories of contamination instead of stories of growth: many times such persons have been wronged – sometimes deeply. When we have been deeply hurt, offended, or abused, our sense of justice cries out for satisfaction. Once our sense of justice is aroused, we expect and demand completion of the cycle pictured here:
To a greater or lesser extent, this cycle is an ideal we’ve all been trained to believe. Even as children, we were told to “say you’re sorry” as a way to patch things up. Completion of this cycle is a story as old as time.
But what if restitution isn’t possible? What if no one takes responsibility? For some people, steps 2, 3, and/or 4 never comes close to happening. In situations such as these, the cycle is incomplete and continues to beg for resolution. It is like a jig-saw puzzle with the most important pieces missing. Our sense of justice is not appeased. If I know who my perpetrators are and they don’t apologize, then my hurt must go on (cue Celine Dion music). Keeping the hurt alive seems to hold the person or universe responsible. (“Perhaps if I perpetually re-live the hurt, someone or something will validate my experience?”) If I don’t know who my perpetrators are or if they aren’t around anymore, then I take the blame. After all, I have plenty of ammunition to use against myself. I can remember every mistake I’ve ever made. Therefore, my contamination story of being bad, unlovable or a screw-up seems justified. I may be miserable, but at least life seems less random and, therefore, more controllable and predictable. Aren’t we told that what goes around comes around? Such a concept, while well-meaning and useful at times, has a dark side; it reinforces an incomplete “wheel” of justice that continues to spin ungreased and forever squeaky.
Our sense of justice may never be fully satisfied, but we can change contamination stories into growth stories and thrive nevertheless.
To learn more from Bryan Bushman, Ph.D. visit The Counseling Center.