On Tuesday, my brain–well, my heart–undermined my marriage.
Here’s what happened on the outside.
I got home from Walmart (because we live in a Walmart-not-a-Target town). The sun had set, and the temperature was hovering around seventeen degrees. Yes, Fahrenheit.
We’d received about five inches of snow here in the mountains, and my husband loves it when the snow around the cars and on the stone path up to the house are shoveled.
This is because as the sun melts the snow, the water freezes at night into a skating rink stealthily hoping to wipe out any family members or visitors. Especially those in dress shoes.
So I grabbed the shovel and snow broom, and executed a credible job against our snow-foes. My husband arrived home, gratefully noticed all the shoveled snow, swiped a spot in front of his car, and came in to thank me.
Internal Narratives: The Stories I Tell Myself about Reality
But then there’s my mind, see?
I’m shoveling. Freezing. Sincerely tired from a day of work and errands and a medical appointment (my fave). I’m Irritated my scarf keeps falling from my face as I bend over. My cheeks turn numb as the temperatures plunge.
And I think of how my husband shovels so cleanly, you could eat off it. And I think, He’s probably going to come out and do all the spots I miss. Or think one of the kids did it, and remind them about what they need to make sure to do next time.
Are you seeing what I’m seeing happening?
Because of my unguarded brain and its well-worn scripts, my unsuspecting–not to mention thankful–husband is doomed to fail.
It’s like the black ice that would be rubbing its hands together, waiting to snatch one of us to the asphalt. Only worse.
Couple this with another misunderstanding, and we’d both signed up for more than one tense conversation.
But wait. There’s more
I wish so badly this was a one-off.
But as I address the undertow of my emotional health lately, I’m realizing internal narratives have played a big enough part, they’re more of a starring role.
And the problem with internal narratives is, of course, that we don’t see them as stories or interpretations we’re telling ourselves.
We see them as truth.
Consider the narrative I suddenly realized I hold about a more posh friend than myself. I realized I’ve imagined them thinking and even talking badly about me when I fail to dress well or don’t sufficiently address my mommy-paunch.
Interestingly, my mental version of my friend resembled culprits of the “mean girls” year I endured in high school.
And then, with another friend, I learned my fear of being selfish in talking about myself…was perceived as me not wanting to have a relationship with them on that level.
People, my mental scripts are sinking me. And my relationships.
…Over to You
So maybe you can relate. Maybe you’ve got internal narratives–call them perspectives, or opinions with darn good evidence–that don’t represent being merciful in your mind. (Don’t miss The Day I Found a Friend’s Flaw.)
And maybe they’re changing how you approach the table at Christmas with your family. Or how you interact with your teen, your spouse, your sister or dad.
(I’m thinking, would I want someone drawing conclusions about me based on such scanty evidence–even in self-protection?)
Maybe it’s worth asking, “Hey, is there anything you think I get wrong about you sometimes?” Or, like me with my husband, it’s worth apologizing when we’ve set people up to fail.
Behold! I could even ask someone what they think, rather than attempting to read their mind…?
Maybe it’s worth praying with me that God will ruthlessly reveal the untruths–the lies about others and ourselves–which we marinate in:
Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!Psalm 139:23-24
May more gracious internal narratives breathe some life back into both of us.
Like this post? You might like
- The Stories We Tell Ourselves
- Under pressure: Militant mommy convictions vs. authentic friendship
- Am I judgmental? Judgment vs. discernment
- How Not to Read God’s Mind
