The Stories You Tell Yourself About Why You Can't
And the uncomfortable truth about who those stories actually protect.
“I can’t have that conversation with my boss about my development, she’s too busy.”
“I can’t delegate this task, nobody else can do it right.”
“I can’t give that person honest feedback, they’re too sensitive.”
“I can’t take on that stretch assignment, I don’t have the experience yet.”
“I can’t change how we do this, that’s just how the culture is here.”
These are the stories we tell ourselves. These are the narratives we construct to explain why we can’t do the hard thing, can’t have the difficult conversation, can’t take the risk, can’t step into the growth that’s available to us.
And here’s what I’ve learned after thirty years in leadership: These stories feel like truth. They feel like valid reasons. They feel like rational explanations for why the thing we know we should do is actually impossible.
But they’re not truth. They’re protection.
They’re protection from discomfort. Protection from uncertainty. Protection from the possibility that we might fail, or that we might succeed and then have to become someone different than who we are right now.
This weekend, I want you to examine the stories you’re telling yourself. Because those stories aren’t keeping you safe. They’re keeping you small.
💭 This Weekend’s Reflection
The stories we tell ourselves about why we can’t do something almost always contain a kernel of truth. That’s what makes them so convincing. But that kernel of truth is wrapped in layers of self-protection that we’ve convinced ourselves are rational judgment.
This weekend, I want you to interrogate five stories you might be telling yourself. Not to beat yourself up. Not to shame yourself for having these stories. But to see them clearly for what they are: protective narratives that limit your growth.
What conversation do you know you need to have that you’ve been avoiding, and what story are you telling yourself about why you can’t have it?
Right now, think of the conversation. You know the one. The one you’ve been rehearsing in your head for weeks or months. The one you’ve started and stopped a dozen times. The one where you know exactly what you need to say but you haven’t said it yet.
Now notice the story. “They’re not ready to hear it.” “The timing isn’t right.” “It would damage the relationship.” “They wouldn’t understand.” “It would make things worse.”
These stories might be partially true. But here’s the question: Are they more true than the cost of not having the conversation? Because every day you don’t have that conversation, something is deteriorating. A problem is compounding. A person isn’t growing. A relationship is quietly eroding.
The story you tell yourself about why you can’t have the conversation is protecting you from the discomfort of having it. But what is it costing the other person? What is it costing your team? What is it costing your own integrity?
I avoided a conversation with my boss for eight months because I told myself he was too busy with the merger to talk about my career development. But the truth was, I was afraid. Afraid he’d say no. Afraid he’d think I was ungrateful. Afraid the conversation would expose that I wasn’t as valuable as I thought I was.
When I finally had the conversation, it took twelve minutes. Twelve minutes to unlock a development opportunity that changed the trajectory of my career. The story I told myself kept me stuck for eight months. The truth set me free in twelve minutes.
What conversation are you avoiding? And what’s the real story underneath the story?
What opportunity have you turned down because you told yourself you weren’t ready, and was that actually true, or were you just protecting yourself from the discomfort of growth?
Think about the last year. What opportunity presented itself that you didn’t take? A promotion. A stretch project. A lateral move. A chance to lead something new. A role that would have challenged you.
What story did you tell yourself? “I need more experience first.” “I’m not qualified enough yet.” “I should wait until I’m more prepared.” “Someone else is better suited for this.”
Here’s what I’ve learned: Nobody is ever ready. Nobody ever feels fully qualified. Nobody ever believes they have enough experience. The people who grow aren’t the people who feel ready. They’re the people who are willing to be uncomfortable.
Research shows that external hires are sixty-one percent more likely to fail in their first eighteen months than internal promotions. You know why? Because internal promotions bring domain knowledge, relationship capital, and cultural understanding that external candidates don’t have. But we turn down those promotions because we tell ourselves we’re not ready.
Meanwhile, someone from outside the organization gets hired for the role we should have taken, and we watch them struggle with all the things we already knew how to navigate.
I turned down a regional leadership role seven years ago because I told myself I needed more experience first. Someone else took the role. They struggled for six months with the operational knowledge I’d spent a decade building. And I sat on the sidelines, watching, knowing I could have done it, but I’d been too afraid to be uncomfortable.
The story “I’m not ready” feels humble. It feels responsible. It feels like good judgment. But most of the time, it’s just fear dressed up as prudence.
What behavior in someone else do you complain about, that you’re actually enabling by not addressing it?
This one stings. Because this is where our stories about other people’s limitations are actually stories about our own avoidance.
“He’s always late to meetings, he just doesn’t respect other people’s time.” But have you ever told him directly that his lateness impacts the team? Or do you just complain about it after he leaves the room?
“She’s so defensive when she gets feedback, you can’t tell her anything.” But have you examined how you’re giving the feedback? Are you actually being clear and direct, or are you hinting and hoping she’ll read between the lines?
“They don’t take initiative, I have to tell them everything.” But have you created an environment where initiative is rewarded? Or do you override their decisions and then wonder why they stop making them?
Every behavior you complain about in someone else is a behavior you’re enabling by not addressing it. Every limitation you assign to them is actually a limitation you’re imposing by not having the conversation that would challenge it.
The story “They can’t handle feedback” protects you from the discomfort of giving feedback. The story “They’re not capable” protects you from the vulnerability of admitting you haven’t invested in their development. The story “They don’t care” protects you from examining whether you’ve given them something worth caring about.
I spent two years complaining about a manager who “couldn’t handle complex projects.” When I finally sat down and had a real conversation about what he needed to develop, I realized I’d never actually given him the tools or the coaching. I’d just assigned him the work and then complained when he struggled.
His limitation wasn’t his capability. It was my unwillingness to invest in developing it.
What behavior are you complaining about that you’re actually enabling by not addressing?
What skill or capability do you claim you “don’t have” that you’ve actually never practiced?
“I’m not good at public speaking.” Have you taken a class? Have you practiced? Or have you just avoided every opportunity to speak and then told yourself you’re not good at it?
“I’m not a strategic thinker, I’m more operational.” Have you ever tried to develop strategic thinking? Have you studied strategy? Have you practiced looking at problems from a strategic lens? Or have you just defaulted to operations and called it a strength?
“I’m not comfortable with conflict.” Have you learned conflict skills? Have you studied conflict dynamics? Or have you just avoided conflict your whole career and then labeled yourself as “not comfortable”?
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: Most of the skills we claim we “don’t have” are actually just skills we’ve never practiced. We’ve turned our avoidance into identity. We’ve made our discomfort into destiny.
“I’m not good at X” feels like a factual statement about our capabilities. But it’s actually a story about our unwillingness to be bad at something while we’re learning it.
Marshall Goldsmith says, “We spend a lot of time teaching leaders what to do. We don’t spend enough time teaching leaders what to stop.” But I’d add this: We spend a lot of time accepting our limitations as fixed when they’re actually just unpracticed.
I told myself for fifteen years that I wasn’t good at writing. I was operational. I was tactical. I was good with people and systems, but not with words. That story kept me from ever developing writing skills. Until someone challenged me: “You’re not bad at writing. You’re just unpracticed.”
So I practiced. And guess what? I’m still not a great writer. But I’m better than I was. And that only happened when I stopped believing the story I’d told myself about what I couldn’t do.
What skill are you claiming you don’t have that you’ve actually just never practiced?
If you couldn’t use the excuse anymore, what would you do differently starting Monday?
Final question. And this one exposes everything.
Imagine you woke up Monday morning and the story you’ve been telling yourself simply didn’t work anymore. The excuse wasn’t available. The protective narrative had evaporated. You couldn’t hide behind “they wouldn’t understand” or “I’m not ready” or “the timing isn’t right.”
What would you do?
That conversation you’ve been avoiding? You’d have it. That opportunity you turned down? You’d ask if it’s still available. That feedback you’ve been withholding? You’d give it. That skill you claim you don’t have? You’d start learning it.
Now ask yourself: What’s actually stopping you from doing that right now? What’s actually preventing you from acting as if the story isn’t true?
The answer is nothing. Nothing is stopping you except the story itself.
The story about why you can’t is the only thing preventing you from discovering whether you actually can. The narrative you’ve constructed to protect yourself from discomfort is the cage you’re living in.
And here’s the hardest truth of all: You’re the only one who can unlock that cage. You’re the only one who can challenge your own story. You’re the only one who can decide that the discomfort of growth is worth more than the comfort of your limitations.
If you couldn’t use the excuse anymore, what would you do? That’s not a hypothetical question. That’s the question that reveals what you’re actually capable of, and what you’re actually choosing to avoid.
What This Means for Monday
Monday morning, the stories will still be there. The comfortable narratives. The protective explanations. The rational-sounding reasons why you can’t do the thing you know you should do.
But now you’ve seen them. You’ve examined them. You’ve interrogated them. And once you see them clearly, you can’t unsee them.
You can still choose to believe the stories. You can still choose the comfort of your limitations. Nobody can force you to grow. Nobody can make you have the hard conversation or take the scary opportunity or develop the difficult skill.
But you can’t pretend anymore that the stories are truth. You know they’re protection. You know they’re the cage you’ve built to keep yourself safe from discomfort. You know they’re the barrier between who you are and who you could become.
So Monday morning, you get to choose.
The story that’s protecting you from growth? Or the discomfort that leads to it?
The comfortable cage you’ve built? Or the scary freedom outside of it?
The version of yourself that avoids hard things? Or the version that does them anyway?
Your stories aren’t keeping you safe. They’re keeping you small. And you’re the only one who can decide whether that’s okay with you.
🔗 This Week’s Newsletters
Monday: The Leadership Table - The Weekly Trust Inventory
Wednesday: Breaking Bread - The Story Challenge Practice
Friday: The Mindful Leader - The Stories You Tell Yourself About Why You Can’t
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🧠 THE MINDFUL LEADER, by Robert Adams