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What’s the Story You’re Telling Yourself About Who You Are?

One of the most powerful truths I’ve come to understand, both in my own life and in my work as a coach, is this: the stories we tell ourselves about who we are shape what we do, what we believe we’re capable of, and ultimately the life we end up living.

It’s rarely the circumstances themselves that hold us back. It’s the meaning we attach to them.

The Stoic philosopher Epictetus said, “We are disturbed not by things, but by the views which we take of them.” Over two thousand years later, that wisdom still hits hard.

Life will hand us all sorts of challenges, curveballs, and flat-out unfair situations. Some of those we can influence, some we can’t. But how we interpret them and how we choose to see ourselves in the midst of them determines whether we stay stuck or start moving forward.

I see this play out daily. Clients who swear they “don’t have the willpower.” People who believe that stress “makes them” binge. Others who think they’re too old, too broken, or simply not the “kind of person” who can be disciplined, active, or healthy.

And I get it. I’ve lived versions of those stories myself. At thirty years old, I was overweight, sedentary, and out of breath just climbing the stairs to my office. In my mind, I was a “computer guy and foodie,” not an athlete. Not someone who could run ultras or coach others on their health. That identity, who I thought I was, shaped everything.

But here’s the thing: identity isn’t fixed. Stories aren’t final. And the moment you realise you’re the author, not just the reader, is the moment you reclaim the power to change.

Let’s talk about what those stuck stories look like, why they have such a grip, and how you can start rewriting your own.

The Old Narratives That Keep Us Stuck

Spend enough time coaching, and you start to notice patterns. Certain scripts repeat, regardless of who’s sitting across from you. Different people, different backgrounds, but the same kinds of limiting stories.

Here are a few I hear all the time:

“I don’t have the willpower, energy, or motivation to cook something healthy.” Translation: I’ve decided that motivation should come first, instead of action. So if I don’t feel like it, I guess it can’t happen.
“When I’ve had a stressful day, I just can’t help myself—I binge on junk food.” Translation: food is my only release valve, and I’ve already accepted I have no control in that moment.
“Work, family, life… it’s all too much. I don’t have the time or energy to exercise.” Translation: I’ve decided busyness equals powerlessness, and effort isn’t even worth attempting.
“If it weren’t for you, JP, I’d just be a couch potato.” Translation: I’ve outsourced responsibility for my choices, and I don’t trust myself to take ownership.

And here’s one I’ve been hearing more often lately, particularly with some of my training clients, and even inside my own head:

“I’m broken.” Often it’s said quietly, sometimes with frustration, sometimes with resignation. They’ve been injured, had a setback, or are dealing with chronic aches. A physio or health professional gives them “homework” like mobility drills, strengthening exercises, stretches, but they don’t do them. Why? Because deep down, they’ve embraced the identity of being “broken.” If that’s who they are, then what’s the point of trying?

Seneca nailed it when he wrote, “We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”

The pain, the stress, the lack of willpower…these things are real, yes. But the suffering that comes from labelling yourself as lazy, weak, or broken? That’s self-inflicted. That’s the story.

The Trap of Abdication

What ties all these narratives together is abdication—handing away control.

Sometimes it’s to circumstances: “Life is just too busy. What can I do?” Sometimes it’s to emotions: “Stress makes me do it, I can’t stop myself.” Sometimes it’s even to other people: “If it weren’t for my coach, I’d never show up.”

But here’s the truth: you can’t abdicate responsibility for your own life and expect change.

Epictetus also said, “We cannot choose our external circumstances, but we can always choose how we respond to them.”

Read that again:

We Can Always Choose How We Respond.

Yes, there’s a mountain of stuff outside your control. Work deadlines. Family chaos. Weather. Illness. Genetics. But you always have a say in your response. And your response shapes your story.

This doesn’t mean blind optimism or pretending difficulties don’t exist. It means refusing to let them define you. It means seeing obstacles as training grounds, opportunities to develop strength you wouldn’t otherwise have needed.

This is where the real meaning of discipline comes in. Not the rigid, harsh, all-or-nothing version most people think of. I wrote about this in Discipline Isn’t What You Think It Is: real discipline is adaptability. It’s staying aligned with your values and goals even when the conditions aren’t ideal. It’s showing up, adjusting, doing something rather than nothing.

The moment you stop giving away responsibility for your story, you open the door to change.

Reframing: How to Start Shifting the Story

So how do you actually do it? How do you take an identity that’s been running the show for years (maybe decades) and start shifting it?

It starts small. Always small.

A few tools I use with clients (and myself):

Notice the script. Start paying attention to the words you use about yourself. Catch the “I’m broken,” “I’m lazy,” or “I can’t” statements. Awareness is the first step.
Reframe with evidence. Did you make one better choice today? Celebrate it. That’s evidence you’re not who you said you were.
Stack wins. Build on those small choices. They don’t need to be perfect. In fact, if perfection is your goal, you’ll burn out fast. (See Better Beats Perfect for more on why this matters.)
Anchor to “better more often.” Instead of aiming to rewrite your identity overnight, focus on doing better more often than you used to. Over time, those better choices accumulate into a new story.
Mind your self-talk. When you slip (and you will), the way you talk to yourself matters more than the slip itself. If this is an area you struggle with, my piece How to Talk to Yourself When You Mess Up is worth revisiting.

The goal isn’t to delude yourself with false affirmations. It’s to start telling a story that aligns with where you want to go, rather than one that locks you into where you’ve been.

Seneca once wrote, “If you really want to escape the things that harass you, what you’re needing is not to be in a different place but to be a different person.”

That’s identity change in a nutshell. It’s not about escaping your circumstances. It’s about transforming your relationship with them, and with yourself.

My Own Story: From Sedentary Desk Jockey at 30 to Spartan Race Athlete In My 40’s and Ultra Marathoner In My 50’s

If you’d met me at thirty, you’d never have guessed I’d end up a trainer, a Spartan Race competitor, and an ultramarathon runner.

Back then, my identity was clear (to me, at least): I was a computer guy, a foodie, someone who enjoyed eating but wasn’t cut out for athletic stuff anymore. Sure, I’d been decent at track in high school, but that was ancient history. By my thirties, I was thirty to forty pounds overweight, sedentary, and so out of shape I’d get winded climbing a flight of stairs.

Two things collided to shift my story.

First, I found out my wife was pregnant with our first child. I had this vivid image of being the dad who always sat on the sidelines, too tired or unfit to play with his kids. That wasn’t the example I wanted to set.

Second, I became friends with a colleague at the office named Suki—a dedicated martial artist. When I trained with him for the first time, I was a sweating, wheezing disaster within ten minutes, while he barely looked like he was warming up. It was humbling, and it made me face the gap between who I thought I was and who I actually wanted to be.

So I started training. I worked with a personal trainer near my office. I trained martial arts with Suki. At first, progress was slow. It took months before I felt or saw much change. But over time, something shifted.

I stopped seeing myself as a computer guy dabbling in fitness. I started seeing myself as an athlete. A beginner, sure, but an athlete nonetheless. That identity shift opened up a whole new world of “honestly expressing myself” through my actions as Bruce Lee put it. Eventually, it led me to my true calling as a trainer and coach.

But identity changes don’t happen just once. They keep happening, if we’re willing to embrace them.

In those early years, I saw myself as a very specific type of athlete: a power and explosiveness guy. It fit the narrative. In high school I was a sprinter and long jumper. As an adult, my focus was martial arts: short bursts, quick movements, high-intensity conditioning. So I painted myself into the “strength and power athlete” corner.

Meanwhile, I’d often tell my runner clients (marathoners especially) that they were too one-dimensional. I’d lecture them on why they needed to focus on what they weren’t good at: strength, explosive work, intensity. All the while, I was being a complete hypocrite, because I wasn’t doing the opposite.

I wasn’t training endurance at all.

My story at the time was, “I’m not a runner. I’m built for power, not endurance.” I clung to that identity for years. Even as I entered the world of Spartan Races, I “capped myself” at a Beast (a half-marathon distance with 30 obstacles over mountainous terrain, so you can see how ridiculous the idea was) because long distance wasn’t my thing.🙄

I’d say it out loud, even during races: “I’m not a runner.”

Until one day, while running alongside another racer, I said exactly that. She glanced over at me, smirked, and said, “Hate to tell you this, dude… but yeah, you’re a runner. You are literally running right now, on this mountain, and pretty fast at that.”

That one comment flipped a switch. I realised I’d been holding myself back with my own story. And so I broadened my horizons. I took on the challenge of a Spartan Ultra on my 50th birthday. I ran a DIY, sunrise-to-sunset ultramarathon this past June that had me out for over sixteen hours.

And now? I’m rewriting the story again.

I’ve pulled back from the “runner identity” because I went too far in that direction, all but abandoning my strength training as I chased more and more running mileage. These days, I’m working on becoming a more well-rounded, all-purpose athlete, with the kind of broad-based fitness I’ve always preached to my clients.

The point is, our identities are fluid. They shift with us, if we allow them to. Every time I’ve been willing to let go of an old story and embrace a new one, my world has expanded

The Bigger Message

So where does this leave us?

It comes back to one central truth:

Your identity isn’t fixed.

The stories you’ve been telling yourself, that you’re lazy, broken, undisciplined, too old, too busy…these aren’t facts. They’re interpretations. And interpretations can change.

Every choice you make is a vote for the kind of person you want to become.

Cook a healthy meal instead of grabbing takeout? That’s a vote.
Do your physio homework even when it’s boring? Another vote.
Go for a walk when you’d rather collapse on the couch? Yet another.

Over time, those votes add up. They reshape your self-image. They rewrite your story.

And that’s the invitation I want to leave you with:

Stop waiting for your story to change on its own.

Stop assuming your identity is set in stone.

Start choosing who you want to be, and prove it to yourself through your actions.

Because the truth is, you’re always writing your story. The only question is whether you’re doing it intentionally.

A neon sign in a window that reads "What is your story?"

Closing Thoughts

If you take nothing else from this piece, let it be this:

Your life story is not yet written. You are not locked into being who you’ve always been.

You can choose to let life happen to you, or you can choose to live it purposefully. You can decide who and what you want to be, and begin making choices. Small, imperfect, consistent choices that move you in that direction.

The Stoics weren’t pretending life was easy. They were reminding us that suffering often comes not from circumstances, but from the way we interpret them. Buddhist philosophy also explores this idea with the saying, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is a choice.” The story you tell yourself matters more than you realise.

So here’s your reflection prompt for the week:

👉 What’s the story you’ve been telling yourself about who you are?
👉 And what’s one small action you can take this week to start rewriting it?

Your identity isn’t fixed. Your story isn’t final. And the pen is in your hand.