You're Telling the Wrong Story
How False Assumptions Erode Connection—and What to Do Instead
You’re visiting with someone, and something just feels… off. Maybe they seem distracted, or a little quieter than usual. You're trying to stay in the moment, but your mind floods with worried thoughts:
Oh no, this is a disaster.
They don’t really want me here.
I’m probably distracting them from something important.
They’re wishing I’d just leave.
They’d be better off without me.
There’s a third voice forcing its way into the conversation—the one in your head. It’s a relentless, real time commentary telling you what they’re thinking, how they feel, and what it must mean about you.
Here’s the thing, though: that voice is probably dead wrong.
“Sorry I’m Interrupting…”
Let’s call my client David.
He told me a story just like this. He’d walked into a restaurant to meet his younger sister, who was at dinner with some college friends. He’d gone out of his way to visit after a long day and was excited to reconnect with her. The moment he arrived, though, his energy shifted. He sat down feeling like a third—or maybe a seventh—wheel in the group.
They made room for him. Smiled. Welcomed him in. His sister was delighted to see him.
Despite the warm welcome, David found himself apologizing.
“Sorry to be barging in like this,” he said. “If you need me to, I can leave.”
Later, he told me, “I just felt bad. Like I was messing something up by being there.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I just felt like it was wrong to take her time from her friends,” David replied. “I wasn’t even sure she wanted me to be there. Maybe I was just being a nuisance.”
“Did you ask her how she felt?”
After a pause, David sheepishly admitted he hadn’t.
He wasn’t responding to what was actually happening—he was reacting to a story unfolding in his own mind.
Your Internal Narrative
David described himself as a rambunctious kid—playful, full of energy, maybe a little much at times. He remembered hearing phrases from siblings like:
“Hey, stop bothering me.”
”You’re in the way!”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
These phrases weren’t always meant to wound, but over time, David started to believe them.
Then, like many of us do, he forgot he'd made that decision.
So years later, sitting at a table with people who welcomed him, his old story whispered again:
This is so awkward. You’re just in the way. They were better off before you got here.
That well-worn internal narrative shaped his perception of the experience even more than the experience itself!
The same is true for me. For you. For most of us.
Our perceptions are often built on old programming, and decisions we made as children still drive our actions today.
Two Truths, Two Options
When interacting with others, I’ve found it helpful to keep two truths in mind:
You don’t know everything going on in another person’s head.
That person probably doesn’t know everything going on in their own head, either.
This ambiguity—this not-knowing—is where our minds start to fill in the blanks. But we don’t fill them in with their truth. We fill them in with ours—our past experiences, our beliefs, our fears, our insecurities.
See the problem?
While it can feel uncomfortable, this ambiguity also creates opportunity. It means you have a choice in how you respond to the blank spots in your understanding. You have options.
Option 1: Ask Questions
It amazes me how often people (myself included) forget how easy it can be to bridge a gap in understanding. Sometimes, all we need to do is ask.
“Hey, when you said X, what did you mean by that?”
“You seem a little unsettled. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like I’m missing something important here—can you help me understand?”
This is the best way to resolve ambiguity. Point it out, ask for help filling in the blanks, and then actually listen to them.
As long as you're able to ask in a way that is (1) curious, not accusatory, and (2) emotionally neutral, you’ll get surprisingly good results. Don’t assume you know what they meant. Ask them!
Option 2: Choose a Better Story
Of course, there will be times when asking isn’t appropriate or even possible. In those moments, uncertainty can become a gift.
Every experience we have is made up of two things:
The facts. Facts are neutral, emotionless things. Stuff that happens. Words that are said. Events that occur. Interestingly, they occupy only a small portion, if any, of the stories we tell ourselves.
The meaning. This is where most of our pain (and joy) lives. Meaning is shaped by our emotions, assumptions, and beliefs.
Two people can share the same factual experience and walk away with completely different stories—because the meaning each one applies is different.
So here's the opportunity:
You may not always have control over the facts, but you do have control over the meaning you apply to them.
You can choose the story you tell yourself. And you can change it at any time.
The Most Beautiful Story
I had an amazing professor in my MBA program: Dr. Colby Wright. In his book, The One With The Tiger On The Boat, Colby shares his own experience wrestling with ambiguity and unknowns in his own life and work as a Christian academic. It's a great read, an you can get it here. (Colby, if you're reading this, we can arrange kickbacks at your convenience ;)
Here's what I love about Colby’s take on uncertainty: Since we don't know the full story for sure, we have to fill in that blank spot with something. What we fill it with is something we can choose. Why not choose to fill it with the most beautiful story?
To me, the most beautiful story in an interaction or situation is the one that places everyone involved in the best possible light. Sometimes, those stories may take some real digging or require serious creativity, but if you're willing to put in that effort, you'll find your frustration, regret, and misery being replaced with gratitude, hope, and happiness.
To be clear, we're not talking about willfully ignoring facts or merely "pretending" to believe in a positive meaning. We're acknowledging that there is some ambiguity, some doubt in why people made the choices they did, and we’re choosing to replace our default negativity with something better. That's what "giving the benefit of the doubt" means to me.
It's a good trade.
Try This
The next time you find yourself ruminating over an experience or interaction, try this exercise we call "Ten Things:”
Write down the facts. Remember, these are neutral. Not positive, not negative. They just are.
Ask: “What story am I telling myself right now?” or “What does this mean?” Write it down.
Now ask: “What else could it mean?” Write ten possible alternative interpretations.
Choose the most beautiful story—the one that places everyone in the best light. Then recombine the facts with that story and notice how it feels.
Conclusion
My favorite part of David’s story happened later that night. His sister messaged him, telling him how grateful she was that he’d come. How much it meant to her. How lucky she felt to have a brother who cared.
Her story about that night bore almost no resemblance to the one David had gotten sucked into.
Thankfully, he was willing to let go of his own assumptions and embrace the version told by the only person who could speak for his sister: herself.
We can do the same.
Faced with the ambiguity of what others might be thinking or feeling, we can almost always ask.
And when we can’t ask, we can still choose the most beautiful story.