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Your Narrative. Your life.

Updated: Apr 6

“The self is an on-going autobiography; or, to be more exact, it is a self-other multifaceted

biography that we constantly pen and edit”—Harlene Anderson



Homo narrativus. 

Maybe that’s a more fitting name for us than Homo sapiens. While wisdom—sapiens—may guide us, storytelling and the narratives that emerge from it define us. So perhaps, more than anything, we are storytelling beings rather than merely human beings—humanus, from Latin, evoking refinement, compassion, and culture.


It is through storytelling that we come to understand who we are and how we relate to the world around us. This practice is innate and foundational to our human-ness; it’s what sets us apart from all other forms of life. Long before we ever wrote things down, we told stories—to connect, make sense of life, remember, teach, lead, imagine, comfort, and heal. It’s not just a tool for communication—it’s a cornerstone of identity and meaning-making (Bruner, 1990).


Storytelling is the act—the voice through which we share our lived experiences, our ideas, and our emotions. What emerges from these stories are narratives: the structure, the thread that weaves those experiences into coherence—the underlying themes or patterns that give those stories meaning and shape over time. Through the stories we tell ourselves and others—and the narratives that arise from them—we come to know ourselves, connect with others, and ultimately shape our futures.


This profound connection between narrative and the human experience isn’t just philosophical musing—it has real implications for our psychological well-being and personal development. It is at this intersection of narrative and identity that the insights of experts like my latest guest speaker, Dr. Margarita Tarragona, shed light on how we can navigate this space with greater intention  (Tarragona, 2013). 


Through her thoughtful and engaging talk, Dr. Tarragona—a psychologist, professor, and recognized expert in positive psychology, personal narratives, and narrative therapy—helped us understand how the stories we tell ourselves shape our well-being and how, by becoming aware of these narratives, we have the power to re-write them in ways that support personal growth, resilience, and meaning. With her signature pracademic approach, she beautifully bridged academic research and real-life wisdom, not only inspiring us to reflect on our own stories but also equipping us with practical ways to reframe and enrich our personal narratives.


Dr. Margarita Tarragona shared a poignant example to illustrate the power of becoming aware of our personal narratives. 


“Meet John,” she began. 


Today, John feels like a failure. A relentless inner voice loops: “I’m no good. I wish I were more efficient, more organized.” 


This morning, he overslept—he forgot to set his alarm. On the way to work, he realized he was almost out of gas, making him even later. At the office, his coworker was clearly frustrated—they were now late for an important meeting with their supervisor. When the meeting finally happened, the supervisor was disappointed: the report John was responsible for hadn’t been submitted on time. 


From John’s point of view, the story writes itself—he’s late, disorganized, letting people down. The dominant narrative? I’m failing. 


But what if we widen the lens? 


Yes, John woke up late. But before rushing out, he stopped and kissed each of his kids and told them he loved them. Yes, he ran out of gas—but a neighbor nearby offered help, reminding John how much he’d supported them when their basement flooded. 


At the office, a few coworkers greeted him warmly. Later, a colleague confided in him about a personal struggle, saying he valued John’s perspective. Before heading home, HR called him in—not to reprimand him, but to ask if he’d plan the New Year’s party again. “Last year’s was fantastic,” they said. “Everyone had a great time.” 


These details are just as true as the ones in his dominant narrative—the story that tells him he’s failing. But together, they point to something else. Dr. Tarragona described this as an alternative narrative: a parallel storyline that also exists in someone’s life, yet is often overshadowed by more critical or painful interpretations (White & Epston, 1990; Denborough, 2014).


“Our own lives are not just one line—one plot developing—but multiple plots taking place at the same time.” —Dr. Margarita Tarragona

In John’s case, this alternative narrative—though more subtle in nature—reveals something very different: he’s not just disorganized or disappointing. He’s also a present and loving father. A helpful neighbor. A trusted friend. A valued coworker with emotional and social intelligence.


These moments don’t cancel out the challenges, but they offer a fuller view of who John is. They highlight overlooked strengths, moments of connection, and evidence of who he is at his best—softening the grip of the dominant story and opening space for a more compassionate and truthful one. When we bring these threads into focus, we open up new possibilities for how we see ourselves—and how we move forward.


The Tapestry of Life
The Tapestry of Life

The question here is—why?


Why, if we have the capacity to identify and highlight alternative narratives, is it still so hard? Why do we tend to hyperfocus on the negative, letting it tunnel-vision our identity into something that doesn’t truly serve us? Why, if we always have the option to search for glimmers in our stories, do we so often get stuck in their opposite?


It’s not like we don’t recognize the glimmers—we do. We enjoy them, and they offer us real moments of joy. But by comparison, that joy often feels fleeting, fading quickly, while the weight of negativity seems to linger longer, its impact on our well-being tending to last far beyond the moment.


Dr. Tarragona masterfully used a metaphor to explain this phenomenon: Teflon vs. Velcro. We, humans, are naturally inclined to Velcro to moments of hardship while we Teflon the moments of ease (Hanson & Mendius, 2009). This tendency is rooted in our evolutionary design. Being acutely attuned to potential threats—anything that could endanger our survival—took priority over comfort or joy. That’s why negative experiences tend to stick to us like Velcro. This vigilant orientation to danger—known as negativity bias—helped our species survive—but it also helps explain why we often struggle to hold on to positive narratives with the same intensity (Baumeister et al., 2001).


And while this protective instinct still plays a vital role, let’s be honest—it’s unlikely we’ll be chased by a saber-toothed tiger while looking for something to eat in our modern-day lives. This shift—from evolutionary roots to present-day agency—is where the golden nugget of wisdom lies: we all have the capacity—and the power—to override that wiring. We may not control what happens to us, but how we choose to interpret our stories—whether through the dominant narrative or the alternative one—is entirely up to us. It’s a form of personal agency no one can take away, regardless of circumstance.


Of course, this doesn’t mean it’s always accessible. In moments of deep trauma or pain, the emotional bandwidth to make these choices may not be available. The power of choice still exists, but it can feel inaccessible. In those moments, therapeutic support, community, and care—when available—can be life-changing.


But, for many of us, the ability to shift our personal narrative is well within reach—more accessible than we often realize. It starts with awareness, takes root through intention, and requires the courage to exercise our agency. This power is ours to claim. And while it demands effort, patience, and self-compassion, it’s through this practice that we begin to write the story we actually want to live.


Perhaps this is the true meaning of Homo narrativus—not merely that we tell stories, but that we hold the remarkable ability to shape our personal narratives. In recognizing this power, we don’t just become storytellers; we become authors of the narrative that defines our lives, continually rewriting what it means to be human.


So the question becomes: What story do you want to tell?




REFERENCES

Anderson, H. (1997). Conversation, language, and possibilities: A postmodern approach to

therapy. Basic Books.

Baumeister, R. F., Bratslavsky, E., Finkenauer, C., & Vohs, K. D. (2001). Bad is stronger than

good. Review of General Psychology, 5(4), 323–370. https://doi.org/10.1037/1089-

Bruner, J. (1990). Acts of meaning: Four lectures on mind and culture. Harvard University

Press.

Denborough, D. (2014). Retelling the stories of our lives: Everyday narrative therapy to draw

inspiration and transform experience. W. W. Norton & Company.

Hanson, R., & Mendius, R. (2009). Buddha’s brain: The practical neuroscience of happiness,

love, and wisdom. New Harbinger Publications.

Tarragona, M. (2013). Positive identities: Narrative practices and positive psychology.

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.

White, M., & Epston, D. (1990). Narrative means to therapeutic ends. W. W. Norton &

Company.


TO CONTACT DR. MARGARITA TARRAGONA

Instagram: @margaritatarragona






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