Counteract The Narrative
Oh, my heart—my daughter started a new school. For the first time in her life, my wildly extroverted child who has always been able to make friends, so very many friends that since the days of pre-K I have been inundated with texts from other parents because their kids want to arrange play dates… suddenly, at this new school, she’s struggling. Her pre-teen classmates are literally making a game for themselves out of shunning the new girl.
For so many reading this, you remember this time. This time between childhood and adulthood, this time of individuating and your first fledgling attempts to figure out who you are, when social circles and belonging are…everything.
My stomach feels tight on the afternoon drive over for pick up, bracing myself to hear about a new cruelty. I can tell by the look on my daughter’s face as she walks over to the car after school whether it’s been a “good” day or a “bad” day.
And here I am. I can’t fix it for her. I can talk to the school or help her connect with trusted adults at school, but I can’t make these girls—Mean Girls who I know also suffer deep down or else they wouldn’t act this way—behave better.
Then the other day it hit me that while I can’t control everything, one of the most important things that I can do is counteract the narrative, intentionally, and out loud, and hopefully before it can be internalized.
The Narratives that We Keep (Unconsciously)
When people say “change your mindset, change your life,” they are talking about narratives.
The narrative = the meaning you construct, assign, and sometimes internalize around what you’ve experienced.
It works something like this: we go through life, we have experiences, and we try to make meaning out of them. And sometimes, the meaning we make is that something is wrong with us, and that if we change who we are, then we’ll avoid future suffering.
We adopt narratives that we should have been done more or paid more attention, which often results in a perfectionist fear pattern.
We adopt narratives that we should have been nicer and more accommodating so that people won’t be upset with us, often resulting in a people-pleasing fear pattern.
We adopt narratives that we are incapable and not enough (the self-sabotage fear-pattern), or we adopt narratives that caring in the first place is the problem, and decide to stop giving AF (the pessimism fear pattern).
Once we’ve adopted these narratives and accepted them as facts, they are internalized. At that point the fear patterns play out unconsciously.
Think back to your own middle school experience and I’m sure you’ll spot them easily. The time everyone was invited to a party except for you? Maybe you adopted the narrative that you were too weird and tried to dress or act different. Or maybe you adopted the narrative that you would never again care what anyone thought of you (because then it hurts less, when they don’t include you).
All of this takes us further from who we truly are, and into performing for others. We start doing that as a way to cope in the moment, and it’s often not until later in life that we start questioning and unpacking what we’ve internalized and deciding that we want to craft a new story, that we want to be who we actually are instead of who the world has asked us to be.
How we Counteract the Narrative
Everything I know about being a coach reminds me that what people need most when they are struggling is not a list of helpful suggestions, or wise-sage perspective of how this too shall pass, or my own reassurances that they are good.
I am reminded that my daughter needs me to listen and ask open, non-leading questions. She needs empathy for her experience without a rush to strategize. And—she needs help counteracting unhelpful narratives.
This is so hard to do, without going into “bright, shiny, just think positive” territory. Counteracting narratives can so easily slip into avoiding feelings and strategizing about reframes, which isn’t ultimately as helpful as the work of choosing what you want your narrative to be.
There are narratives other kids are trying to put on her, making her wrong for being different in any way.
I ask what she notices. (Is she actually all that different? How is she different, and how is she the same? What are her thoughts on “being different” or people who are different? What does she like about the ways that she is different? What can be hard about the ways she is different?)
We talk about all the friends she’s made who like her just as she is. We talk about how easily she has made friends in the past. (It’s evidence that counteracts the narrative that she is unlikable).
What does she notice about these girls who say and do these things? Do they seem like happy people? Or people she wants to emulate? If so, in what ways? If not, why not? (To encourage her to notice what does and does not work for her; she’s in choice).
I ask how she feels. We name feelings. I say things like, “That totally makes sense, that you’d feel that way.” (Translation: you’re having a normal response to mistreatment, and we aren’t going to gaslight you).
I ask what kind of support she needs. Literally, “How can I support you?” is the question. (Often, she can’t come up with anything; I try to avoid suggestions that would move me into “fix it” mode and instead affirm that she’s got good ideas)
How much does she want me to be involved, as it relates to the school? (Translation: you don’t need rescuing, and you get to have input).
What does she see as the best way to handle the situation? What are her ideas? (Translation: you are resourceful and can come up with ideas, and you have good ideas).
What fun things would she like to do as a family, to relieve some stress? (Because we are not going to pretend as if this isn’t hard. It’s a healthy emotional choice to consciously and intentionally relieve stress when things feel hard).
And casually at random times, I mention how she’s making great choices.
Like the girl who pointed out her acne, on picture day? What a great choice it was for her to say to that girl, “That comment makes me feel self-conscious.” What fantastic ownership of feelings, and respectful honesty.
When she decided to join the hip hop dance club after never taking dance lessons? How amazing you are for trying something new!
When we are walking around town and she compliments a stranger on their (very unique) outfit? I ask my daughter if she noticed how the person’s whole face lit up, how that compliment might have left them feeling like it was okay to be different—and how it’s brave and kind to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and how this willingness to strike up conversations has been what made her friends in the past and will help her find her people in the future.
Side note— I try to keep my comments very, very short. It’s hard! Sometimes I catch soapboxing, and have to command myself to be quiet. Talking too much will land as a lecture, rather than affirming.
Counteracting the Narrative That You are Alone
This is something that we all need—people who counteract the narratives that we are too much or not enough, that we are not capable, that how we feel in just one moment will not be how life always feels.
I am under no illusions that I’m doing parenting “perfectly” with this approach. Chances are very high that at least some of what she’s experienced will be internalized. Most kids do internalize these experiences.
Accepting that possibility is tough.
That’s why I appreciate those who are helping me to counteract my own fear-based narratives.
Can I counter the narratives, by myself? Absolutely. It’s what I teach! I interrupt and counteract my own narratives all of the time.
But it sure does help, to not do it alone.
Perhaps the most important thing that I’m trying to do is walk shoulder to shoulder with my daughter. Attuned, available, helpful wherever I can be—and here.
I can’t change other people’s behavior, but I can let her know that she isn’t walking through this, alone.