The Four Lies We Tell Ourselves

This week I wrote about four lies we tell ourselves. This is all four of those posts in one place as a review.

Why identity is a story—not a sentence.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the stories we tell ourselves—
especially the ones that keep us stuck.

They’re usually not loud.
They don’t sound like lies.
They sound like common sense.
Like maturity.
Like truth.

But they aren’t.
They’re just well-worn scripts.
Internal narratives we’ve repeated so often, they start to feel like facts.

So, I’m unpacking four of the most common lies we tell ourselves—
not out of malice, but out of fear.

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Lie #1: “This Is Just Who I Am”

This is the lie that sounds the most like honesty.

It says:
“I’ve always been this way.”
“I’m just not wired for risk.”
“I’ve never been the creative one.”
“It’s too late for me to change.”

But most of the time, that’s not truth—it’s just repetition.
It’s what you’ve been told. What you’ve rehearsed.
What felt safest to believe.

Here’s the thing:
These aren’t just phrases.
They’re CliffsNotes for stories we’ve absorbed about ourselves—
short summaries of who we think we are and why we believe we’ll never change.

We all do it.
We shrink ourselves down to fit inside a sentence:

“I’m the responsible one.”
“I’m the steady one.”
“I’m the screw-up.”
“I’m the anxious one.”
“I’m the one who never finishes anything.”
“I’m the one who always finishes everything—even when I hate it.”

These kinds of sentences fall into two big traps.

The first is insecurity—a quiet belief that says,
“I can’t do that. I’m just not wired that way.”
So we don’t try. We don’t risk. We stay in our lane—
not because it’s right, but because it’s familiar.

The second is permission—the kind that lets us off the hook.
You’ve seen it:
The coworker who’s always late—“It’s just who I am.”
The friend who’s rude in meetings or makes off-color jokes—
“That’s just how I’m built.”
The partner who avoids conflict at all costs—
“I’ve always been this way.”

It’s not honesty. It’s avoidance.
And if we’re honest with ourselves, we’ve all done it too.

We confuse identity with patterns.
But identity isn’t fixed.
It’s fluid.
It’s a story you’ve been handed—and a story you can rewrite.

And yeah—rewriting a story is scary.
Because we don’t just fear change.
We fear disapproval.
We fear the people around us might say:
“You’re not being yourself.”

But here’s the truth:
If you’re evolving, you are being yourself.
The story just turned a page.
That’s not betrayal. That’s growth.

You’re not a label. You’re a character in motion.

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So what do you do if this is the story you’ve been telling yourself?

First—call it what it is.
“It’s just who I am” is almost always a lie.
Or at best, a broad-brush oversimplification.

You aren’t just anything.
You’re layered. Complex. Evolving.
You have more in you—and I think you know it.

You don’t have to burn it all down.
Just start by noticing the sentence.
Name it.
Ask who gave it to you.
And then—get curious about the story you’d write if you believed something else.
Not all at once.
But one word at a time.

Lie #2: “I Can Do This Alone”

The seductive pull of isolation and self-reliance.

This one doesn’t sound like fear.
It sounds like strength.

That’s what makes it so dangerous.

It’s the voice that says:
“I’ve got this.”
“I don’t need help.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I’ll figure it out on my own.”

And on the surface, that sounds noble.
Independent. Gritty. Mature.

And for some of us, pretty damn American.

But it’s not as praiseworthy as we think.

Most of the time, it’s just fear wearing a disguise.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of being seen too clearly.
Fear of someone letting you down. Again.

So we isolate.
We do it all ourselves.
We build entire lives out of competence and control—
then wonder why we feel so lonely in our own story.

It’s not that you’re incapable.
You probably can do most of it alone.
You just weren’t meant to do it all alone.

Because no great story was ever a solo act.

The hero always needs someone.
A mentor. A guide. A sidekick.
Someone to remind them who they are when they forget.
Someone to walk with them through the cave.

You don’t need everyone.
But you need someone.

So what do you do if this is your story?

Start by admitting it.
Say it out loud: “I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

Then do something unthinkable:
Ask for help.
Make a call.
Text a friend.
Let someone in—even just a little.

The myth of self-sufficiency dies hard.
But that death might be your rebirth.

You were never meant to do this alone.

And you have people who want to help you.

Lie #3: “I Can’t Get This Wrong”

The lie that keeps you frozen—before and after the breakthrough.

Some lies shout.
This one whispers.

You might not even realize you're saying it.
But it’s in the hesitation.
The delay.
The constant second-guessing.

It shows up in two moments—right before you begin, and right after something starts to work.

Before you begin, it sounds like:
“What if I pick the wrong thing?”
“What if I look stupid?”
“What if I mess it all up?”

After you’ve found success, it sounds like:
“I finally got here—I can’t screw this up.”
“I have too much to lose now.”
“If I fail now, people will know I’m an imposter.”

Either way, it’s the same lie:
“I can’t get this wrong.”

But here’s the truth:
That pressure? It’s not wisdom.
It’s fear.
Perfectionism is just a mask we wear to hide our insecurities.
A way to say “I’m in control” when what we really mean is “I’m afraid to mess up.”

This lie doesn’t keep you safe.
It makes your dreams small.

It turns your goals into untried fantasies.
Your successes into self-made prisons.
And it turns your story into something predictable, safe, and—for lack of a better word—boring.

And you weren’t called to boredom.
You were called to adventure.

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So what do you do if this is your story?

You start by questioning the rule itself.

Who told you you had to get it right on the first try?
Who said you couldn’t outgrow a dream?
Who said changing your mind meant you were weak?

Because whoever told you that—
they weren’t giving you advice.
They were selling you a trap.

There’s no such thing as a perfect decision.
Only honest ones.

And your next chapter doesn’t have to be flawless.
It just has to be real.

You can improvise later.
You can grow into it.
You can change direction if you need to.

But first, you have to let go of the lie that says:
“I can’t get this wrong.”

Because the only real mistake…
is staying stuck forever.

Lie #4: “It’s Safer to Stay Silent”

The fear that honesty will cost us connection.

We all can’t be Teller all the time.

This one’s not about lying to others.
It’s about lying to yourself—by omission.

Because you do know what you think.
You do know what you want to say.
You do know what’s true for you now.

You just keep swallowing it.

Not because you aren’t sure what you believe.
But because you’re afraid of what will happen if you actually say it out loud.

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This is the lie that says:

“They’ll reject me if I say that.”
“It’s not worth the drama.”
“I’ll lose the friendship.”
“I’ll hurt them.”
“They won’t understand.”
“I’ll sound crazy.”
“I’ll be alone.”

So instead, you perform.
You smile.
You nod.
You change the subject.
You quietly become someone smaller in order to keep the peace.

But here’s what you already know deep down:

That’s not peace.
That’s avoidance.

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We tell ourselves silence is safety.
But it’s actually fear of rejection in disguise.

Every time you silence your truth to protect someone else's comfort, you chip away at your own integrity.
Your own identity.
Your own aliveness.

It’s no wonder you feel numb.
Or tired.
Or disconnected in rooms you used to feel at home in.

You’re not broken.
You’re just not being heard.
Because you stopped letting yourself speak.

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So what do you do if this is your story?

You start small.
You tell one truth to one safe person.
You say something real—even if your voice shakes.

You remember that people who love you don’t need you to be perfect.
They need you to be present.

And if you speak your truth and someone walks away?

They weren’t really in your corner anyway.

Let them walk.

Because every time you silence yourself to stay close to someone else,
you move further away from yourself.

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One more thing.

Sometimes staying silent doesn’t just harm you.
It harms others.

Think of all the evil and injustice that has been allowed to thrive—
not because bad people acted,
but because good people didn’t speak.

Racism.
Misogyny.
Harassment.
Homophobia.
Even physical and sexual abuse.

All allowed to continue uncontested because everyone decided “not to cause drama.”

You may not feel ready to change the world.

But you can start by refusing to stay silent in your own.