The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Photo by John Brundage
4 Minute Read
We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.
—Romans 8:28
…when the enemy of human nature brings his wiles and persuasions to the just soul, he wants and desires that they be received and kept in secret; but when one reveals them to his good Confessor or to another spiritual person that knows his deceits and evil ends, it is very grievous to him, because he gathers, from his manifest deceits being discovered, that he will not be able to succeed with his wickedness begun.
—St. Ignatius of Loyola, 13th Rule for the Discernment of Spirits
If you could go back in time and tell yourself one thing, what would it be? This question has made for some fascinating reflection and prayer times for me over the years. Now that I’m a seminarian preparing to become a Catholic priest, I’d want to say something along the lines of “hang in there and pray every day—trust me!”
But I’ve also realized that teenage John and I wouldn’t be on the same page with just about anything. Although I had outstanding parents and a happy childhood, I also had many challenges. In the midst of these, faith felt like nothing more than a set of impossible rules. I was already struggling, and the only thing these rules seemed to do was add an extra layer of discouragement. My attitude became this: if I’m going to believe something so burdensome, I’d better make sure it’s true. I was no longer giving God the benefit of the doubt on anything. By the time I was in my teens, I didn’t even believe in him.
So while I think teenage John would give present day John a hearing, the last thing he’d have wanted to do was start praying.
Even if I had an extended sit down with past John, I don’t think arguments would have gotten very far. I do think I’d have really good answers to his questions. But the more I’ve studied these issues, the more I realize that the reasons people give for their beliefs are just the tip of the iceberg: behind those reasons lie a whole zoo of conscious and unconscious assumptions. And that’s all leaving aside the fact that people are almost never convinced by reasons in the first place.
I think the witness of future John being a seminarian would by itself give teenage John a lot to think about. To build trust I’d want to give something that even teenage John would find genuinely useful. So as long as teenage John knew that I was a seminarian, I think I’d tell him this: when something makes us feel bad, it almost always isn’t the thing itself, but the story we tell ourselves about that thing which makes us feel bad. Looking back, I’ve shot myself in the foot in this area more than anywhere else, and I’ve never had such a simple idea bring so much benefit.
This simple idea is the basis for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I sought out CBT at a time when I felt my emotional life was going poorly enough that I needed to devote serious work to address it, but not poorly enough that I wanted to spend hundreds of dollars seeking therapy. I settled on the middle ground of purchasing Dr. Seth Gillihan’s Cognitive Behavioral Therapy workbook. Having read that book and worked through his program, I can say it’s no substitute for actual in person counseling. But it still contains enormously helpful insights I wish I’d been taught in grade school. It’s amazing and often troubling to see the wide ranging impact negative stories have had on my life.
For example, when I’d get a bad grade on an assignment, I found it wasn’t the bad grade itself which made me feel dejected, but the stories like: I’m stupid, the teacher thinks I’m an idiot, I’m not cut out for this, I’m going to fail this class, studying for the test is going to be so stressful!
Once I’m aware of these stories, I can investigate them and see how well they stack up against reality. More often than not, just tracking down the reason I feel the way I do is enough to make me feel better. And when it doesn’t, the techniques of investigating and reframing our stories which CBT offers go a long way. The most effective one I’ve learned is the question: would I tell a friend this? If I wouldn’t tell a friend that they’re a failure and a horrible person for making a mistake, why am I telling myself that?
As amazing as CBT is, it has its limits. Sometimes the story which makes you feel bad is true. CBT is great at exposing false and unreasonable stories, but in my experience it leaves you on your own when it comes to facing true stories. That’s where your worldview kicks in. My biggest concern for teenage John would be that atheism offers no hope for these stories. I’d know that there’s only so far being kind to himself could take John when he believed that he’s nothing but, and no more objectively valuable than space dust.
Without God, there will be cases where CBT is just an exercise in putting a positive spin on things. With but with our faith, we can know that when we despair, there’s always a false story lurking in the background. I asked in a previous post: where does your security, identity, and self esteem come from? The world offers no shortage of false stories in answer to this question: my security comes from my bank account. What other people think of me determines my worth. I need to earn love. It’s never ok to make a mistake. Death is nothing more than falling asleep forever. My existence is an accident with no ultimate purpose. Atheists can and do choose not to believe many of these stories. But the great gift of faith is that we can recognize that the falseness of these stories isn’t a matter of attitude and perspective. Our faith reveals that these stories are objectively false: God really exists, he really loves us. He really is protecting us, and has a home prepared for us when we die. And he can be known and loved personally.
If our faith doesn’t give us a peace that causes our problems and worries to melt into insignificance, we shouldn’t beat ourselves up or try to force ourselves to feel good. But we should recognize that if we follow Jesus a day will come when “he will wipe away every tear” from our eyes (Rev 21:4). Death and sorrow do not have the final word; that’s not poetry or positive thinking. It really is true. And it’s one of many reasons why prayer is so important. The closer we are to God, the more quickly we can spot false stories, and the easier time we can hear God telling us the truth about who we are and how much we mean to him.
What would you tell your past self? Did your past self know that God loves them and is always taking care of them? Do you?
John Brundage is a seminarian with the Companions of the Cross. He also writes a Substack Newsletter called Integrated Prayer.