The Power of Story: How the Stories We Tell Shape Our Lives
The stories we tell ourselves are a reflection of our inner lives, mirroring how we experience the world and define our identity. Our realities are malleable, reshaping as we grow and change. As a narrative inquiry researcher, I listen to people’s plotlines, intrigued by the throughlines holding their chapters together.
But how do we construct our life story, and what is the impact of the stories we tell ourselves and others?
How Do We Build Our Life Story?
McAdams (2013a, 2022), a pioneer of narrative research, conceptualizes psychological development as a three-part progression of actor, agent, and author. In the beginning, we join the ranks of social actors, engaged in what Goffman (1959) describes as dramaturgical analysis, making us hypervigilant to the societal clues abounding around us. At this juncture, we are learning the rules of our role, busily practicing our parts in the background, and engaging in impression management as the curtain lifts and we step on stage (Adler, 2019; Habermas & Bluck, 2000; Habermas & Köber, 2015).
As we move into adolescence and young adulthood, we maintain our outward-facing social roles previously adopted, yet now, we are more selective in what parts we accept (Habermas & Bluck, 2000). At this stage, we are what McAdams (2013a) describes as “motivated agents,” using our values, goals, and project plans as roadmaps for moving forward.
In the final phase, we take the pen, no longer enacting the script of another, and write our own story. We are agentic in our life’s narrative, crafting our own identity.
What Do the Stories We Tell Ourselves and Others Reveal?
We are each dealt a different deck: tragedies mixed with celebrations that are self-made, other inflicted, or simply outcomes of random circumstances. Despite the plotlines, both constructed and endured, how we tell our story provides a window into the ways in which we make sense of our experiences, assign meaning to our existence, and create unity in our life’s arc (Adler et al., 2016). Our tellings also offer glimpses into what we might do next. Though our stories are unique, the structures we adopt for the tellings follow predictable patterns and provide insight into our well-being. Four contrasting categorical markers offer particular utility: coherence vs. episodic, redemptive vs. contamination, agency vs. passivity, and communion vs. isolation.
Coherence vs. Episodic: When we view our experiences as episodic, our tellings are isolated and static, leaving us telling the same stories on repeat. Void of connective tissue linking our life’s episodes together, we are left rudderless, unable to mine for meaning in difficult circumstances, insights that could inform later happenings.
In contrast, when our story possesses a narrative coherence, each episode joined by a common thread, we are in a position to chart our evolution and celebrate our growth, constructing an identity built on personal values and mission. Narrative coherence storytelling has consistently been tied to positive mental health outcomes, because it invites the teller to reflect on lessons learned, sharing how insights gained from one experience served to inform the next (Adler et al., 2016; Lysaker et al., 2005). In other words, storytelling with narrative coherence consists of chapters with a narrative arc, gifting generative ahas and inspiration to others (Mason et al., 2019).
Redemptive vs. Contamination: Curveballs are a natural and unavoidable part of our existence, but it is the ending valence where the meaning lies. Ending valence is a term used to delineate if a story concludes on a high or a low, a decision that is partially reliant on the meaning we assign to the experience and where we draw the chapter breaks. In other words, if a story has a bad ending, perhaps we should consider it halftime instead of the final scene (Adler et al., 2016; McAdams, 2013b).
The stories we tell tend to be redemptive or contaminated, and the designation is not fully reliant on the event. Two people can live the same experience and assign radically different meanings, changing the narrative arc.
Stories of redemption are not toxic positivity tellings - but stories where we survey what unfolded and, even in the face of unfairness and cruelty, identify the lessons learned. Within the insights gained and personal growth incurred, we measure our redemption, even when the bad outweighs the good, as is so often the case in tragedy (McLean et al., 2020; Perlin & Mcadams, 2023).
For example, I was in a serious car accident last year, breaking my back and pelvis, and though now I live with a body infused with metal and in chronic pain, I learned the comfort afforded when I allow other people to care for me, instead of always directing the show. Furthermore, over my many months on medical leave, I enjoyed a constant flow of friends, both old and new, who reminded me of the power of friendship, kindness, and humanity to heal our bodies and souls. My story is redemptive.
Contamination, on the other hand, is an oil spill that poisons the waters, leaving us sinking and in despair, unable to turn the page on a new chapter. Contaminated stories are quicksand, trapping us in the pain and disallowing us from climbing out of the muck and moving forward.
It is important to note, in difficult circumstances, grieving is necessary and often prolonged. It is okay to sit in the contamination and breathe in the pain and unfairness of it all as you come to accept the unfolding, adjusting your plotlines to accommodate the disappointment or catastrophe. The power, however, comes when you start to crawl out of the hole, dragging the lessons learned, hard-won, into your next chapter, eradicating the contamination, and learning to carry the pain in a way that is meaningful. Redemption doesn’t mean the experience was worth it or that you wouldn’t undo it if given the opportunity, it simply means that you squeezed some revelations out of the reeling.
Research indicates redemptive narratives are connected to well-being, as well as, a more generative existence or a life example that leaves positive ripples for future generations (McAdams, 2022).
Agency vs. Passivity: Themes of autonomy, control, and mastery are tied to our quest for agency. An agentic self is correlated with positive mental health outcomes. In contrast, when we view ourselves as a passive protagonist, our plotlines place us as victims of circumstance, leaving us at the mercy of life’s mishaps (McAdams et al., 1996).
Agency, however, looks different depending on the circumstance. For example, in the face of a terminal diagnosis, we may not have agency over the disease’s progression, but we can gain control in how we spend our remaining days and the legacy we leave behind (Brewster, 2022). Interestingly, when studying the narratives of adults in psychotherapy, changes in agency preceded positive changes in mental health (Adler, 2012; McLean et al., 2020).
Communion vs. Isolation: Humans are wired for connection, an evolutionary trait to warn us of danger and ensure our protection (Sapolsky, 2004). Isolation, especially as a fallout of ostracization, has detrimental health consequences, sometimes provoking anxiety, depression, gastrointestinal issues, migraine, sleep deprivation, and suicidal ideations (Suskind, 2023). In fact, the hurt of ostracization and exclusion triggers the same parts of the brain as physical pain (Eisenberger et al., 2003).
Lives of communion ward off loneliness and despair. Isolation, on the other hand, removes the buffers to harm, leaving us vulnerable to a hostile world. Communion narratives tell the stories of our affiliations, friendships, and loves - attaching us to something outside ourselves, helping to lessen the load (McAdams et al., 1996; McLean et al., 2020). When communion is broken, whether that be the ending of a relationship or being pushed out of an organization, the emotional fallout is significant. In repairing the harm, it is essential to reestablish or create connections with friends and communities.
Our autobiography is not a neutral telling but a window into how we interpret our life circumstances. Cohesive stories, framed by redemption, agency, and communion, are correlated to psychological well-being. In this way, our stories are not static but alive, actively predicting our futures. Therefore, the stories we tell are both recounts of the past and predictors of next steps, living and breathing organisms directing our chapters’ unfoldings.
Work Cited
Adler, J. M. (2012). Living into the story: Agency and coherence in a longitudinal study of narrative identity development and mental health over the course of psychotherapy. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 102(2), 367–389. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0025289
Adler, J. M. (2019). Stability and change in narrative identity: Introduction to the special issue on repeated narration. Qualitative Psychology, 6(2), 134–145. https://doi.org/10.1037/qup0000155
Adler, J. M., Lodi-Smith, J., Philippe, F. L., & Houle, I. (2016). The incremental validity of narrative identity in predicting well-being: A review of the field and recommendations for the future. Personality and Social Psychology Review, 20, 142–175. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/
1088868315585068
Brewster, A. (2022). The healing power of storytelling: Using personal narrative to navigate illness, trauma, and loss. North Atlantic Books.
Eisenberger, N. I., Lieberman, M. D., & Williams, K. D. (2003). Does rejection hurt? an fMRI study of social exclusion. Science, 302(5643), 290–292.
Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Doubleday.
McAdams, D. P. (2022). Narrative identity and the redemptive self: An intellectual autobiography, with occasional critique. Narrative Works, 11, 6–23.
Habermas, T., & Bluck, S. (2000). Getting a life: The emergence of the life story in adolescence. Psychological Bulletin, 126(5), 748–769.
Habermas, T., & Köber, C. (2015). Autobiographical reasoning in life narratives buffers the effect of biographical disruptions on the sense of self-continuity. Memory, 23(5), 664–674. https://doi.org/10.1080/09658211.2014.920885
Lysaker, P. H., Davis, L. W., Hunter, N. L., Nees, M. A., & Wickett, A. (2005). Personal narratives in schizophrenia: Increases in coherence following five months of vocational rehabilitation. Psychiatric Rehabilitation Journal, 29, 66-68.
Mason, A. E., Adler, J. M., Puterman, E., Lakmazaheri, A., Brucker, M., Aschbacher, K., & Epel, E. S. (2019). Stress resilience: Narrative identity may buffer the longitudinal effects of chronic caregiving stress on mental health and telomere shortening. Brain, Behavior, and Immunity, 77, 101–109. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bbi.2018.12.010
McAdams, D. P. (2013a). The Psychological Self as Actor, Agent, and Author. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 8(3), 272–295. https://doi.org/10.1177/1745691612464657
McAdams, D. P. (2013b). The redemptive self: Stories Americans live by (Revised and expanded edition). Oxford University Press.
McAdams, D. P. (2022). Narrative identity and the redemptive self: An intellectual autobiography, with occasional critique. Narrative Works, 11, 6–23.
Perlin, J., & Mcadams, D. (2023). Redemption: Stories heroes live by. 10.1007/978-3-031-17125-3_394-1.
McAdams, D. P., Hoffman, B. J., Mansfield, E. D., & Day, R. (1996). Themes of agency and communion in significant autobiographical scenes. Journal of Personality, 64, 339–377.
McLean, K. C., Syed, M., Pasupathi, M., Adler, J. M., Dunlop, W. L., Drustrup, D., Fivush, R., Graci, M. E., Lilgendahl, J. P., Lodi-Smith, J., McAdams, D. P., & McCoy, T. P. (2020). The empirical structure of narrative identity: The initial big three. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 119(4), 920–944. https://doi.org/10.1037/pspp0000247
Sapolsky, R. M. (2004). Why zebras don't get ulcers. New York: Times Books.
Suskind, D. (2023). Workplace bullying: Finding your way to big tent belonging. Rowman and Littlefield.
Two Read
This week, I am reading:
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: A Memoir by Haruki Murakami
After Annie: A Novel by Anna Quindlen
Favorite Quote
"What’s crucial is whether your writing attains the standards you’ve set for yourself. Failure to reach that bar is not something you can easily explain away. When it comes to other people, you can always come up with a reasonable explanation, but you can’t fool yourself. In this sense, writing novels and running full marathons are very much alike. Basically, a writer has a quiet, inner motivation and doesn’t seek validation in the outwardly visible.” ~ Haruki Murakami
Workplace Bullying: Finding Your Way to Big Tent Belonging
From the Publisher: Workplace Bullying: Finding Your Way to Big Tent Belonging is a lifeline for people who have been targets of workplace abuse and are desperately trying to make sense of the trauma. It is a resource for partners trying to help their loved ones heal. And, it is a toolkit for managers and industry leaders inspiring to create inclusive cultures by proactively addressing toxic behaviors that stagnate innovation, fracture work communities, and drive out top employees. To simplify a complex topic and make the book readable and engaging for a wide audience, the author uses the elements of story to tell the tale of workplace bullying, zooming in on the characters, settings, and plotlines of cultures that allow and/or encourage workplace abuse.
Purchase Through Rowman and Littlefield
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Reach Out With Questions and Ideas
I love hearing from readers, so please don’t hesitate to reach out to say hello or suggest topics for me to write about next ~ dorothysuskind@gmail.com.