I recently finished The Elegance of the Hedgehog, a 2006 book I picked up at Goodwill about a Parisian concierge tending to wealthy apartment dwellers.  After I closed the book, I found myself thinking about one detail in particular.

The novel’s protagonist describes herself as “enormous.” Written in the first person, she sees her physical presence as ungainly and slow, and my mind took these adjectives and created a picture as I read. One is the expert in their own experience, after all.

Then, later in the story, her clothing size is revealed.

And it was mine. On a good day.

I admit, I felt a bit insulted.

I revised the character in my head and realized that I had accepted her description of herself as truth. Without the protagonist’s form in front of me, I listened to her account and never stopped to ask whether she was being honest with herself.

What a literary way to showcase the harms that can result from our internal narratives!

Our internal narrator doesn’t simply report facts; it interprets them. Those interpretations are shaped by our experiences, the messages we receive from family and friends, and the culture around us. We absorb those influences during our formative years and our most vulnerable moments, gradually building a framework for understanding ourselves and the world. Eventually, we add to that framework ourselves, reinforcing the stories we’ve learned to believe.

Observations about the present moment get filtered through that lens and filed away as conclusions. Because of our brain’s negativity bias, those conclusions are often unkind.

“I need rest” becomes, “I’m lazy.”

“That was a mistake” becomes, “I’m awkward.”

“These people may not be long-term friends” becomes, “I’m bad with people.”

“I can’t do everything” becomes “I’m not enough.”

As therapists, we call these core beliefs. These deeply rooted assumptions we carry about ourselves and the world, once established, become effective at finding proof that they are correct. They are tough to change.

The lovely part of The Elegance of the Hedgehog is what changes when the protagonist shifts her view of herself. She begins to approach the world with a greater sense of possibility. She engages with more people around her and builds connections she didn’t feel possible. The external world hasn’t transformed, but her experience of it does.

Fiction revealing facts

Our thoughts are powerful because they influence what we notice, what we expect, how we behave, and what we accept. If you believe you’re unlikeable, you may avoid conversations that could become friendships. If you believe you’ll fail, you may never attempt the goal that you dream of. The story becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

This isn’t an argument for toxic positivity or pretending difficult things don’t exist. Some experiences are genuinely painful. Some limitations are real. But there’s a meaningful difference between acknowledging reality and allowing our harshest self-critic to narrate it.

A tried and tested reality

Therapy is a place to reality-test the stories you tell yourself with a compassionate professional who brings perspective and unconditional positive regard. When a therapist asks probing questions and offers alternatives and insights, that cracks the belief where it’s weak and allows for further inspection.

The narrator in The Elegance of the Hedgehog wasn’t lying. She was describing herself as she genuinely believed herself to be. Our deepest beliefs are incomplete, but they feel unquestionably true.

Reality testing isn’t about convincing yourself that everything is wonderful. It’s about holding your thoughts up to the light and asking whether they’re accurate and useful. You may discover that your fears are grounded in reality. Even when that risk is real, you may still find that you’ve been carrying around unacknowledged strengths and skills that add another chapter to the story.

Reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog reminded me that we all have an unreliable narrator living inside our heads. The next time your inner voice makes a harsh judgment about who you are, ask yourself: Is this a fact, or is this a story I’ve stopped questioning? You might discover that the picture in your mind isn’t nearly as accurate as you thought.