We have powerful stories in our heads. They create a landscape of inner narratives.
We invent causation stories to make meaning of events. “This happened because of that.”
We tell ourselves heroic stories about our situation. “I’m fighting against X.” “I’m taking a stand for this.” “I won’t do that because I’m principled.”
We have victim stories, too. “It’s not my fault because…” “I would be better off if only this hadn’t happened.” Some we invent, others we inherit from influencers.
These stories don’t need to be true, only believed and treasured. When I realize I have a un-truthful story in my head, I need to seek forgiveness, or at least clear out the head trash to make room for a truthful story. This is difficult work.
Some of our strongest stories were seeded when we were children. Jesus had such a harsh word for adults who mislead children, or exploited their naïve trust: “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” (Matthew 18:6, NIV)
We can make strong connections with someone when we can tap into the stories in their head. This can be done for good and for evil.
It’s an interesting exercise to read the Gospel accounts and see how Jesus is interacting with the stories people have been telling themselves about history, their circumstances, and their beliefs. There are insights here about pastoral care. Study any persuasive politician or business leader and you’ll see this engage-with-their-head-stories, too.
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One of the interesting, variable stories in our heads: How much energy and reserve do we have?
Physiologists learned long ago that when your muscles are screaming to your brain “We’re done, stop!” you still have 40% or more in reserve. (This is different than runners hitting the wall when the glycogen in your muscles and liver is exhausted, and your body switches over to less efficient gluconeogenesis.) Your body is trying to protect itself from potential injury. Your will can overcome this, and indeed, it’s good to train to overcome this. Special Forces training reinforces that you can do far more than you think you can.
I think many of us get to points where we say to ourselves, “I got nothin’ in the tank. I’m done.” Maybe that’s just a few hours or a day, sometimes it’s our story for a season. Seasons can last a long, long time.
Many people I know who ponder job changes are in just such a season. And divorces. And other addictions. Many of us get confused about experiences of boredom, duty, and emptiness. We put the wrong things in our tanks. We develop unhelpful metrics about the passage of time.
One of the best reasons to take a weekly Sabbath rest is to forestall burnout. I’ve written about this before and still think it’s remarkable: Days, months, and years all have an astronomical basis, but not weeks. The idea of a week with a day of rest is a spiritual revelation. The Sabbath is one of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20) because we’re commanded to do things which are good for us but aren’t natural. At times we need more rest than we would usually give ourselves; at other times we need to work harder six days a week than we want to.
I find it helpful to say to myself as I lie down at night, “I’m tired, but this rest will be good for me and I will awake refreshed.” I do the same thing when I take short naps. This helps me keep the correct, truthful story in my head.
There are moments in life where our tank is truly empty. This is where community and family are crucial. Smart people get help.
What about more typical moments when we’re running on fumes? People say “Dig deep. Pull up strength from within.” That works to an extent. It’s not necessarily bad advice, especially when the truth is that we’re tougher than the story of weakness in our head.
An alternative to digging deep is reaching high. The grace of God is inexhaustible. He knows our frame. He is ever before us, even (especially) when we feel desperately alone and weary. The whole story of the Bible is God’s generosity at work with people He created to be co-laborers, co-operating the planet, sending rain and sun on the evil and the good.
Another story category: Trust stories. Who can you trust? Who do you trust? Our experiences shape these stories. A friend who is in a “dark night of the soul” passage wisely tells me that he trusts in God’s unchanging character even if he can’t see how God is directing him.
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Which brings us to another story in our heads: Our identity.
If our identity becomes too closely bound up with our job, or things we do and don’t do, we’re going to accumulate and strengthen head trash on our roller-coaster ride through life. I chatted recently with a 31-year-old digital marketer who is watching GPT bots do in minutes what he does in weeks. He told me he’s curled in a fetal position wracked with anxiety about who he is if he has no living wage potential as an online marketer. I know people in similar angst in their 20’s, 40’s, and 50’s.
“Know thyself” was inscribed on the Temple of Apollo in the ancient Greek precinct of Delphi. Oscar Wilde suggested that “Be Thyself” would be carved on modern temples. Frankly, I wonder if we should be a wee bit less obsessed with ourselves! But knowing ourselves – not arrogantly, not independently, not to enhance our selfishness – is necessary to a healthy identity. Parts of our identity remain constant, and parts will evolve and adapt over time. This is natural and expected. Exploring the stories in our heads is key to understanding ourselves.
What stories are in your head? What stories are occupying the people in your sphere of influence, and your enemies? This landscape matters.
