Stories We Tell (Ourselves)

I’m finishing the last section of my book on Covid narratives, and I keep circling back to the same conclusion: people make decisions on the basis of stories. Not evidence. Not logic. Stories. And not just their own stories—other people happily jump in to reinforce them, especially when there’s something in it for them. During the pandemic, science was catching up as it went along, so we leaned on stories to guide our actions. Remember the “15-minute rule”? Stay near a Covid-positive person for fewer than 15 minutes and you were supposedly safe, like the virus had a stopwatch. At 14:59 you’re fine, at 15:01 you’re doomed. I used that little gem myself when I delivered food to the sick family of a dear friend (bondhu). Did I actually believe it? Not really. But I wanted to believe it, and the narrative gave me cover. And that’s the thing: we don’t just invent these stories alone. We get help. People around us validate, repeat, and polish the narrative until it feels like the truth. And here’s where it gets interesting—those collaborators aren’t necessarily being generous. They’re often doing it because the story benefits them, too. Nowhere is this clearer than in relationships. You want to leave, but you hesitate. Along comes a collaborator who says, “You deserve better, you’re wasting your time.” Sounds supportive, right? But notice the side effect: suddenly they get to be the wise advisor, the confidant, the person whose counsel you’ll need again and again. Your narrative props up their importance. They encourage you to follow it, not just for your good, but because it secures their role in your story. Parents, siblings, cousins—they all have a stake in how your relationship stories unfold. Sometimes it’s about reputation, sometimes it’s about access. They encourage certain narratives because they stand to gain—or lose—something by how you decide. During the pandemic, collaborators were selling masks, vitamins, and miracle cures. In relationships, the currency is attention, influence, or validation. Either way, the dynamic is the same: people reinforce the story you want to believe because they get something out of it too. The focus groups we ran during the Covid research hammered this home. People admitted they wanted to believe the stories they heard—not just because it made their decisions easier, but because everyone around them was invested in their believing. Translate that into relationships: people cheer for the version of your story that keeps them relevant. And eventually, of course, the cracks show. The partner doesn’t change. The “true love” narrative collapses. The friend who encouraged you all along somehow disappears when the fallout arrives. But by then, the story has already done its job. It kept you moving, kept you choosing, kept you justifying, and perhaps kept you lonely and doubting. And the collaborators? They already got what they needed from your buy-in. So yes, we tell ourselves stories to justify our choices. But we rarely notice the chorus in the background, harmonizing not because they love the song, but because the performance benefits them too. Your narrative isn’t just yours—it’s also their opportunity. Next time you’re leaning on a neat little story to explain why you’re staying, leaving, trying, or quitting, ask yourself two questions: Do I really believe this? And who benefits from me believing it? Spoiler: it’s usually not just you. And so, remember the words of the song by Styx: “Just take your best shot and don't blow it,” and hope the story that supports your decision actually works.