How To Protect Yourself From Stories
Why stories are powerful, dangerous and 5 ways to protect yourself
Stories shape how we see the world and ourselves.
They inspire, motivate, connect. But they can also trap us. And most dangerously: we don’t notice when that happens.
I've just finished reading Jonathan Gottschall's The Story Paradox (highly recommended!)
So today, I want to share my take-aways and insights about storytelling:
Why stories are powerful
Why stories are dangerous
5 ways to protect yourself from stories
Why stories are powerful
Humans are meaning-makers. Evolution shaped our brains for story as an effective solution to memorising, transmitting and enforcing information. We don’t just observe the world, we interpret it, we fill the gaps. Stories are how we do that. They help us make sense of complexity. They turn events into explanations.
We use stories to:
Create identity (“I’m the kind of person who...”)
Justify actions (“They had it coming because...”)
Build community (“We’re in this together because...”)
Find hope (“It’s hard now, but there’s a bigger purpose.”)
And more.
Gottschall defines stories as 'an account of what happened', typically with a particular structure that involves the struggle of a protagonist and a moral lesson.
What make stories so powerful:
We love stories and storytellers
Stories are sticky, i.e. we remember them really well
Stories capture attention, our minds literally calm down and focus
Stories demand to be retold; I'm sure one of your last conversations involved you sharing a story you had heard
Stories generate powerful emotion
The last one is key. We hear a story and we not only get the point, we feel the point.
Stories have an incredible influence over us.
And that’s a good thing - until it’s not.
Why stories are dangerous
First, stories are sneaky. We are swayed and may not even know it. Not every story announces itself with 'Once upon a time...'. And the message they convey is implicit. We are not told what to think. That's partly why we like stories. But still we get and feel the message because we follow a character on their struggle - and derive meaning and take our lessons from that.
Second, stories simplify. They cut out nuance and reduce the messy complexity of life into digestible parts: good guys and bad guys, beginnings and endings, reasons and lessons. That’s comforting, but also pretty risky in a world that is more complex. It's why conspiracy theories are not theories but stories: they are not meant to be proven - they are comforting, simple stories. The real danger comes when we forget and confuse the story for reality.
Third, stories have a bias for struggle. They rarely stick when everything is going well. A story without tension or problems feels flat. That’s because we’re wired to pay attention to challenge. So we end up gravitating toward narratives that focus on what’s wrong, what’s broken, who’s to blame, how we’re being held back (and again, that oversimplifies things).
Finally, stories can unite as much as they can divide. Yes, we feel empathy for the protagonist, we put ourselves in their shoes. But we also (like to) despise the villain of the story.
5 Ways To Protect Yourself From Stories
Name the story. If you catch yourself saying, "This always happens to us" or "They never understand"—pause. That’s a cue you’re inside a narrative loop. Ask: What’s the story here? What assumptions am I making? What emotions is this story reinforcing? Who are the heroes, what’s the threat?
Find the exception. Every story hides complexity. And your brain loves coherence so much it will ignore inconvenient facts. Look for moments that don’t fit the narrative. When didn’t this happen? Who’s the exception to the rule? Exceptions challenge certainty and that’s healthy.
Ask: who benefits? Some stories are told to keep others in power. Or to maintain our sense of superiority, victimhood, or control. Ask: Who gains if I believe this story? Who gets to be right, respected, or protected? And what might I lose if I let go of it? A mentor once challenged me with this question: And what do you get out of believing that? It stung. But it helped me see how the story I was telling myself and my team kept me feeling morally superior - and angry - instead of strategic.
Sympathize with the devil. Our stories often need a villain. But in doing so, we erase complexity. What if the antagonist wasn’t evil, but trapped in their own story? Or shaped by circumstances they didn’t choose? Recognizing that people are dealt different cards and often act from fear, habit, or limited options can shift our lens. How would we have acted if we had been dealt their cards? This doesn’t mean excusing harm, but it does mean softening judgment. It invites us to understand, not just oppose.
Hold stories lightly. You can’t live story-free. But you can live story-aware. Recognize when a story is trying to be the truth rather than a version of truth. Treat your stories as tools. Use them, revise them, release them when they no longer serve. And hold story and storytelling itself lightly: it’s a powerful way to make sense of the world - but not the only one. Science offers another. It doesn’t seek coherence or resolution; it seeks what’s observable, testable, and revisable.
Stories are powerful. As much as they can be a force for good, they can also capture our attention, sway us without us realizing it, oversimplify, make us focus on the bad, not the good, and villify whole people.
Would it be nice, if we had more responsible leaders who are great storytellers? Yes.
But maybe a more honest question than 'who tells the story' is: who listens, and how?
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