JOURNAL
Deconstructing dominant stories: How cultural and family narratives shape us
We're all walking around with stories in our heads—stories about who we should be, what success looks like, how relationships work, and what it means to be a good person. Most of the time, we don't even realize these stories are there, running quietly in the background like an operating system. But these narratives, handed down through families and reinforced by culture, shape every decision we make and every feeling we have about ourselves.
The thing is, we didn't write most of these stories. They were written for us, about us, before we were old enough to question whether they actually fit.
Family narratives are among the most powerful forces shaping our sense of self, often operating below conscious awareness while profoundly influencing our choices, relationships, and life trajectories. These stories get passed down like heirlooms, except instead of furniture or jewelry, we inherit beliefs about what it means to be worthy, lovable, or successful.
Maybe your family's story is that "we don't quit"—which sounds admirable until you find yourself unable to leave situations that are genuinely harmful because quitting feels like betraying your identity. Or perhaps the narrative is that "good people don't get angry," leaving you apologizing for perfectly reasonable feelings of frustration or boundary-setting.
Cultural narratives operate on an even broader scale, creating what researchers call "master narratives"—culturally shared stories that define what constitutes a good or normal life within a particular society. These stories become so pervasive that they feel like universal truths rather than cultural constructions.
Consider how deeply embedded the narrative of individual achievement is in many Western cultures. The story goes something like this: if you work hard enough, you can achieve anything, and if you're struggling, it's because you're not trying hard enough. This narrative shapes everything from how we view mental health (personal failing versus systemic issue) to how we approach relationships (self-improvement projects versus mutual support systems).
The problem isn't that families and cultures have stories—it's that these stories often become rigid rules that don't leave room for the full complexity of human experience. When dominant narratives become too restrictive, they can lead to what narrative therapists call "problem-saturated stories"—narratives that focus primarily on deficits, failures, and limitations rather than possibilities and strengths.
Think about common family narratives and how they might constrain someone's sense of possibility:
"We're not the kind of people who..." (go to college, express emotions, take risks, need help, pursue creative careers, prioritize our own needs). These seemingly innocent family identity statements can become invisible barriers that prevent people from exploring who they might become outside of inherited expectations.
Cultural narratives can be equally limiting. The story that "real men don't cry" has led countless men to suppress emotional expression, creating disconnection in relationships and increased rates of depression and suicide. The narrative that "good mothers sacrifice everything for their children" has contributed to maternal burnout and the erosion of women's individual identities beyond caregiving roles.
Research shows that individuals who strongly identify with restrictive cultural or family narratives often experience higher levels of anxiety, depression, and identity confusion, particularly when their lived experience conflicts with these prescribed stories.
When your actual experience doesn't match the story you're supposed to be living, the cognitive dissonance can be overwhelming. You might find yourself thinking, "Everyone else seems to have figured this out," or "There must be something wrong with me if I can't make this work."
But here's what's actually happening: you're not broken. The story might just be too small for who you actually are.
Deconstructing dominant stories doesn't mean throwing out everything your family or culture taught you. It means examining these narratives with curiosity rather than blind acceptance, asking questions like:
Narrative therapy approaches this process through what's called "externalizing conversations"—helping people separate themselves from the stories that have been defining them, creating space to examine these narratives as constructions rather than facts.
For example, instead of "I'm not good at relationships" (a story that becomes part of identity), the narrative might be externalized as "I've been influenced by stories about relationships that don't seem to fit my experience." This subtle shift creates space for curiosity and possibility rather than resignation.
It's important to recognize that not all cultural or family narratives are equally problematic. Stories that emphasize community support, intergenerational wisdom, and collective responsibility often provide valuable frameworks for meaning-making and belonging.
The goal isn't to reject all inherited stories, but to develop the capacity to examine them critically and choose consciously which narratives serve your growth and which ones constrain it.
This process can be particularly complex for people navigating multiple cultural contexts—first-generation immigrants, individuals from marginalized communities, or anyone straddling different worlds with different expectations. The challenge becomes not just deconstructing dominant narratives, but also honoring valuable cultural wisdom while creating space for individual authenticity.
Once you start recognizing the stories that have been shaping your life, you begin to see that you have choices. You can keep the parts of inherited narratives that genuinely serve you while questioning or revising the parts that don't.
This isn't about rebelling against your family or rejecting your culture—it's about becoming an active author in your own story rather than a passive character in someone else's narrative.
Maybe you discover that your family's story about "not being quitters" actually contains valuable wisdom about perseverance, but you rewrite it to include space for strategic exits and self-preservation. Or perhaps you find ways to honor your culture's emphasis on family loyalty while also creating boundaries that protect your individual well-being.
Deconstructing dominant stories isn't a one-time event—it's an ongoing practice of conscious living. As we encounter new life stages, relationships, and challenges, different aspects of inherited narratives may surface, requiring continued examination and choice about which stories to carry forward.
The work involves developing what narrative therapists call "authorial agency"—the capacity to actively participate in writing your own story rather than simply inheriting the stories that were written about you before you could speak for yourself.
Your hurt feelings about not fitting inherited narratives make complete sense. These stories were often created with love and good intentions, but they weren't created with knowledge of who you would become or what your particular path might require.
The goal isn't to reject your history but to become conscious of how it's shaped you, so you can choose which parts to carry forward and which parts to transform. Your story is still being written, and you get to hold the pen.
Sources: Narrative Therapy: The Social Construction of Preferred Realities. (2002). Journal of Systemic Therapies, 21(3), 45-62.Additional sources cited:
White, M., & Epston, D. (1990). Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends. Norton Professional Books.