Narrative identity
How the stories we tell ourselves change us
A couple of days ago my sons found our photobook collection. Eli, my oldest, keen to find a book where he was prominently featured, grabbed one detailing the year that he was born. He started proudly narrating the scenes from his unremembered earlier life, using the pictures as his guide. He confidently described to my younger son, Cody, moments when he got stuck under a chair, was held by family members who’d passed away, and more.
Then, Eli had this absolutely heart-warming exchange (video clipped for brevity):
In case your ears aren’t well tuned to small children’s voices. here are the captions:
Eli: “There, it’s me…me!”
Cody: “A baby”
Eli: “Yeah, I’m a baby”
[Eli embraces Cody]
As I reflected on this tender moment, I was reminded of a concept called Narrative Identity, something I learned about in graduate school.
The basic idea is that we are the authors of our own life story, and that the stories we tell about ourselves can change and evolve. Importantly, researchers have found that the way we tell our story can impact our emotions, sense of self, psychological well-being, and ability to adapt to life circumstances.
To be honest, when I first learned about this concept, I was skeptical. I believed that we had some latitude in how to interpret our own life experiences. However, I didn’t understand just how much control we have over the meaning we assign to our experiences, and how what we choose to focus on can impact us. I also didn’t realize that our narration could be dynamic, supposing that my stories were more of an objective reality.
Then I came across another line of research from Warren Bennis. A renowned leadership expert, Bennis found that when people derive redemptive meaning from their life’s suffering and adversity, they tend to report higher levels of well-being, generativity (inclination to “give back”), and adaptability. Warren Bennis discovered this as he explored the inner worlds (i.e., stories) of prominent leaders, looking for patterns for how they described their experiences. Interestingly, he found that every great leader could point to what he called “crucible” moments — intense, frequently traumatic, unplanned experiences that had shaped them in profound ways. Importantly, Bennis discovered that having a crucible moment was not enough to guarantee someone emerged as a leader. Instead, leaders needed to reflect on and work through their painful experiences to be transformed by them.
Bennis and Thomas’ 2002 HBR article sums it up this way:
“Extraordinary leaders find meaning in— and learn from—the most negative events. Like phoenixes rising from the ashes, they emerge from adversity stronger, more confident in themselves and their purpose, and more committed to their work.”
In other words, leaders are born from their own stories of redemption. It is the leaders’ ability to contextualize their hard experience(s) that allows them to not only survive but to learn and emerge stronger.
This is why, when I coach clients, I spend a lot of time up front listening to them tell their story. I pay particular attention to the words they use and the events that they highlight, and make note of aspects of a story that might benefit from a little editing.
I like to think of this as going slow to go fast. A lot of coaches will jump right into solving a client’s problem (e.g., helping them interview for / find a job, get the promotion, etc.). There’s of course value in this, and I’ve certainly done this too. I also believe that if we don’t take time to understand the client’s story, in their own words, we miss the forest from the trees. For example, if we don’t stop to inquire why the person wants a promotion, we may misunderstand their motivation and how the goal fits into their overarching story. Someone who is seeking promotion to fulfill external expectations (from friends, family, social norms) will benefit from a very different type of coaching than someone who wants the promotion because they want to prove their worth or, alternatively, to increase their ability to mentor others.
When we pursue happiness, we often try to change our environment. We think a change of scenery (e.g., a new apartment, new job, new girlfriend, etc) will do the trick. It may, for a time. When the novelty wears off, we find that we feel about the same. (To be clear: I’m not advocating that you keep living in a dingy apartment, a dead-end job, or a toxic relationship).
Ernest Hemingway wisely wrote:
“You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another”
Since we can’t get away from ourselves, it’s best to work on ourselves. Working with our narrative identity provides a really good opportunity to do just that.
If you’re interested in editing and/or drawing more strength from your own story, there’s an exercise I use with clients that might help you. It goes something like this:
Summarize the main chapters in your life story
Describe the key scenes from your life
Describe the biggest challenge you’ve faced
Describe a moment when you learned something
Describe your next chapter
Review it with a coach!
My son is only 5 years old. I think it’s fair to say he hasn’t had any “crucible” experiences yet (other than getting stuck under the coach of course), but there’s a lot of wisdom embedded in his statement: “There, it’s me!”
When we can look back our lives and proudly say “there, it’s me” — in the hard stuff, in what we’ve learned, how we’ve grown, — there’s a good chance that those stories will be a source of strength when things get hard again.
If this post resonates, let's connect. I’d love to learn more about your story and help support you on your growth journey. :)
References:
Bennis, W. G., & Thomas, R. J. (2002). Crucibles of leadership. Harvard business review, 80.