The year is 2006. I’m 11, and pouting in the orchestra level of the Keller Auditorium, where I’ve been dragged to the national tour of Mamma Mia! My first stage musical, I am convinced that I am about to endure an incredibly boring evening. Despite my protests (and in a parenting move that I will forever regard as one of her best), my mother insisted I attend because, “I would really like it.” After hours (20 minutes) of waiting in my red-cushioned seat, the lights finally dimmed, the first notes soared, and the show began. From that moment, until curtain call, I was enthralled. I was in love. I wanted to live on that Greek island for the rest of my life. I walked out of the theater with tears in my eyes and newfound clarity in my mind: I want to do that. I want to sing and dance and make people laugh and make people feel the way that those people made me feel. My life was forever changed.
I would love for this to be the moment where I shock you all with the big reveal that ALL THIS TIME, I’ve been moonlighting as a Broadway star. Alas, while my love affair with musical theater is ongoing (you should see my Spotify Wrapped…), I never pursued it. It wasn’t for lack of resources, support, or passion. I just…didn’t. I’ve been giving my own inaction on this front a lot of thought as of late. Why didn’t I ever try for it? What’s keeping me from trying for it, now? My best guess: Because it doesn’t align with my story.
Over time, each of us builds narratives about the person that we are. They serve to give meaning to our life experiences, and in turn, influence how we see ourselves and the world around us. They impact how we think, behave, and respond to challenges, setbacks, and successes; they shape our identities, decisions, and aspirations; they set the parameters for what we can achieve.*
In our ongoing efforts to best support our athletes, it’s crucial that we consider their stories, which are far too commonly limiting instead of propelling. Unproductive self-narratives not only hamper sport development and performance, but also contribute to our kids’ low confidence, high anxiety, and poor resilience. And the real kicker? The power to curate these stories – to draft them however we’d like – lies in our own hands.
So where do these stories come from? How can we identify them? How can we shift them to maximize our growth, harness our potential, and be the people we want to be? And will I ever audition for a gosh dang musical?! There is only one way to find out…
The Most Powerful Story
The ability to tell stories is one of the distinguishing and enduring characteristics of human beings. Ever since a caveman (or cavelady) picked up a colorful rock and thought, “Hey, I should mark up my living room wall!”, stories have been told. Whatever the medium – music, books, drawings, films – research demonstrates that stories have a nearly unmatched ability to capture our attention; to create connection, evoke emotion, provoke thought, and grow understanding.
The most powerful stories, though, are those which we tell ourselves. While our brain’s job is to send signals to the rest of our body, the job of our mind is to create stories. At the end of the day, being a human is complex and confusing, and, let’s be honest, we’re just trying to make sense of it all without combusting. Thus, our mind constantly seeks to find meaning or purpose in our experiences by creating stories. The narratives we form lend order to the chaos, and subsequently impact how we seek, interpret, and respond to every aspect of our lives.
Coincidentally, understanding the power of story is best achieved through story, so let’s return to Mamma Mia! (Honestly, how is this my first blog centered around Mamma Mia!?? I’ve really let myself down…). At that point in my life, I was very sure about three things:
- I am smart.
- I am an athlete.
- I am very good at everything that I do.
(I only ever promised you truth, not humility.)
What may seem like simple statements are in fact foundational stories. Many factors, internal and external, influenced the formation of these stories: My circumstance (the family I was born into were academics and athletes), my successes and “failures” (I won games, got all As, and couldn’t draw to save my life), input from others (I was told I was smart and good at sports), and my experiences (Sport is fun! Reading is fun!) to name a few.
Now, my pre-teen brain is met with a new piece of data: I love musicals. I want to do that. Ok, let’s put that up against my narratives. I am smart: Smart people don’t become actors and singers, they become doctors and lawyers.** Strike one. I am an athlete: Musical theater isn’t a sport. Strike two. I am very good at whatever I do: I have never done theater before…or taken dance…or had a voice lesson. Huh..there is a decent chance I am not going to be good at this.
All of a sudden, my decision to not pursue musical theater makes a lot more sense, no?
Soccer Stories
Every single child (and adult) in our club has a unique set of stories that they have written for themselves, consciously or not, over the course of their lives. Some of our stories work for us, some don’t. Regarding today’s youth athletes, I find that the scale often tips in the latter direction. A few common stories (many of which are products of achievement culture) I see in our athletes include:
- Soccer is who I am.
- If I fail, I am a failure.
- I am only worthwhile (to my team, coach, parents) if I play well.
It’s important to note that these stories are not the same as self-talk. While self-talk occurs within a moment, personal narratives are crafted over long periods of time. It follows, though, that our self-talk is directly informed by the narratives we hold.
Let’s take a deeper look at If I fail, I am a failure. Take a beat to consider the ways that this may impact our athletes on and off the field.
[Considering]
[Contemplating]
[Critically Thinking]
[Chewing On It]
[Alright Katie enough with the C’s]
You likely identified the pressure that this narrative produces, and how that pressure can impact behavior (added training, harsh communication with teammates, post-mistake breakdowns, etc.). Good work, you. But what happens when these kids inevitably “fail”? As they struggle to integrate failure data into their preexisting narratives, I most often see three responses:
- Shirking Responsibility: I can’t fail, so no part of this loss could be my fault. It was the coach, the ref, my teammates, etc.
- Quitting: If I lose I’m a failure. I don’t want to be a failure, but I’m losing, so I have to stop playing.
- Not Trying: If failure feels likely, I’m going to stop putting in full effort. That way, I can’t actually fail. If I had given it 100%, I definitely would have won. (Clever, no?)
It’s easy to see how this narrative torpedoes growth, impedes performance, and threatens enjoyment. Off the field, these kids might avoid trying new things, being authentic, asking questions in class, the list goes on.
Of course, it isn’t just our athlete’s narratives about themselves that impact their experiences. Not only do our kids also tell stories about their team/teammates, but coaches and caregivers have their own narratives about themselves and their kids! We might as well be in Love, Actually with all of these storylines! The point: Our many narratives inform not only our actions and understanding, but also how we interact with others. With this in mind, it is critical that each and every one of us craft and invest in the right self-stories.
Flipping the Script
I once read that our internal narrative is like a radio station: If you want to hear something different, you need to change the channel. While a new personal narrative isn’t a simple click away, it is very much within our grasp! What’s more, even small edits to our story can have a massive impact. So how do we go about disrupting our narratives and rewriting them stronger?
- Pay Attention: First off, we need to be aware of the stories we tell (especially after setbacks and successes). There are many routes to this awareness. Mindfulness, observing self-talk, counseling. I’m a huge advocate of curious reflection and thoughtful conversation. What do I tell myself about myself (my kid, my team)? My strengths, my weaknesses, my dreams? What I can and can’t do? Where do those beliefs come from? This can be an individual activity or one that you do with your kid, your team, your spouse, etc.!
- Assess Workability: Now that we’ve written down our stories, it’s time to evaluate: Are these working for me? Importantly, this question is not “Are these true?” Just because a narrative is true doesn’t mean it is working for you. Is your narrative supportive of the life you want to live? Is there a story that is even more compelling?
- Revise & Rewrite: You are the sole author of your new narratives. As you draft them, ask yourself: Does this serve my big-picture vision for my life (or my athletic season, career, etc.)? Is this primarily influenced by internal forces? Can I take action to promote this story?
- Do The Work: An athlete rewrites their narrative to “I am a person who is willing to take risks and fail.” While simply repeating this narrative can lead to its actualization over time, we can expedite the process by taking intentional action. Reflect: What have I done in my life that provides evidence for the truth of this narrative? Take Action: What can I do today to support this narrative (i.e. trying a new skill in practice)
- Monitor & Respond: What’s pesky about this whole narrative rewriting business is that some of our narratives have been an integral part of our personhood for years. While we’re working to reinforce our new narratives, it’s natural for the old ones to creep back in. Keep an eye out for them. When they pop up, remind them that they are no longer welcome. A new, better story has our attention.
It’s unlikely that youth will come to this important (and somewhat arduous) work alone. But with the example of adults in their lives working on their own personal narratives, and the encouragement and support of those adults as kids do the same, what an impact stands to be made.
The Final Chapter
The stories we tell ourselves are oft the invisible captain at the helm of our lives. The right stories provide us with a strong foundation to weather success and adversity, and act as a springboard for growth. The wrong ones shackle us. But our stories are never fixed. Borrowing from Michael Gervais: “We all have the ability – and the responsibility – to disrupt negative stories and craft better ones.”
Harkening back to my stories, maybe it is more accurate to say that I am hard working. That I’m a good creative and critical thinker. That if I lead with passion and put my mind to something, I can achieve it. Well, if that’s the case, why not audition for my first musical at 29? Guess what…that’s what I did last Monday. Yeah, it took a while, and who knows if I’ll get a callback, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s about the fact that I examined my stories, took ownership, and reshaped them. I have plenty of work left to do, but I’m proud of having the courage to pick up my pen and make revisions. Care to join me?
*I regard these inner narratives as stories. You may also hear them referred to as schemas, scripts, mental maps, or cognitive models. Potato, potah-to.
**Obviously, my 11-year-old thinking is wildly inaccurate, here. That said, this oversimplified approach is an accurate reflection of how many kids craft their self-narratives!
