Owning the Story You’re In

What power do I actually have here?

Not the theoretical kind.
Not the motivational-poster version.
The lived, embodied, slightly uncomfortable truth.

Because most of us are capable, well-intentioned people—walking around with far less agency than we think we have.

Or rather, we give it away.

We tell stories where other people hold the keys.

My boss won’t listen.
My partner won’t communicate.
The system is broken.
The timing isn’t right.

And just like that, we slip into a victim stance.
Not dramatically. Quietly. Respectably.
But it keeps us stuck all the same.

The cost is subtle but steep: resentment replaces curiosity, waiting replaces movement, and potential calcifies into explanation.

I’ve seen this in every client I’ve worked with.
I see it in myself.

Coaching, at its core, is not about insight for insight’s sake.
It’s not navel-gazing dressed up as growth.

Coaching is a ruthless weeding process—pulling out the places where we believe we have no agency, and asking, gently but firmly:

Is that actually true?

Take a familiar story:

“He won’t communicate with me.”

After investigation, it often becomes:

“Where am I not communicating with him?”

Not as self-blame.
As ownership.

When this lands, something concrete changes. A question gets asked that was previously swallowed. A boundary gets named. A conversation moves from rehearsed frustration to lived risk.

Where am I outsourcing my power?
Where am I projecting what I’m unwilling to do, say, or risk?

When you start listening to the way people talk about their lives—as David Brooks points out in How to Know a Person—you can hear their stance immediately.

Are they authors of their story, or characters trapped inside it?
Are they oriented toward responsibility, or toward explanation?

Integral Theory might describe this as developmental.
Different stages. Different lenses.

Different languages, same question:

Where am I standing in relation to my life?

Stripped of theory, it comes down to something very human:

Am I relating to my life from fear or from love?

Fear contracts.
It waits.
It explains.

Love moves.
It risks.
It acts.

This is where awareness alone falls short.

Awareness is essential—but it’s not sufficient.
You can see your patterns clearly and still do nothing differently.
Insight without movement just becomes another place to hide.

That’s why, in Talentism, we run experiments.

Not grand gestures.
Not life overhauls.

Experiments.

What is the smallest viable action I can take to test the story I’m telling myself?

If the story is:

“I have no influence here,”
The experiment asks:

What would influence look like at 5%?

If the story is:

“It’s not safe to speak,”
The experiment asks:

What’s one honest sentence I could offer?

Agency is not a feeling.
It’s a practice.

This is the inner work behind every strategic decision.

Even in manifestation—often misunderstood as passive wishing—the same truth applies.
Desire without aligned action is just fantasy.

The real question is always:

What am I willing to do differently in service of what I say I want?

Adult development matters because the world doesn’t change just because we’re more informed.

It changes when we mature.
When we stop waiting to be rescued.
When we stop confusing explanation with responsibility.

Leaders and coaches set the tone here.
Not by being perfect, but by being honest about where they still give their power away—and how they take it back.

So here’s a reflection I keep returning to:

Where in my life am I acting as if I have no choice?
And what would love do with even 1% more agency?

You don’t need to leap.
You don’t need to know the whole path.

You just need to move.

Agency grows in motion.