The Inner Storyteller You Didn’t Know You Had
Why Your Brain is Always in Story Mode—And How to Take Back the Pen
I’ve long been fascinated by the stories we tell ourselves—the hidden narratives running behind the scenes that shape our identities, decisions, and lives. But how did my inner voice—especially that persistent inner critic—develop, and where does it even come from?
Through deep dives into my own inner work—meeting and understanding my internal parts, revisiting childhood memories, recognizing patterns passed down through my lineage, parents, and ancestors, and most recently, navigating a challenging relationship and a breach of trust—I stumbled across something remarkable: a part of our brain called the Default Mode Network (DMN).
Understanding how the DMN works became profoundly healing for me. In fact, it completely transformed how I see myself, my relationships, and even the world around me.
Let me take you into it.
What exactly is the DMN?
Imagine your brain as a busy office. Different teams handle different tasks: one helps you concentrate and solve problems, another swiftly reacts to emergencies and sudden emotional alarms, and a special team—the storytellers—springs into action whenever you pause, rest, or daydream. It's this storytelling team that's at the heart of what we're exploring here: your Default Mode Network.
This isn’t about the right and left hemispheres of your brain; both hemispheres actively participate in the DMN. Picture it this way: the creative department sits right next to the accounting team, and they're constantly chatting. Rather than left-brain or right-brain, think of it as inward-looking versus outward-looking.
The inward-looking part—the DMN—activates whenever you rest, reflect, or drift into daydreams. It takes your memories, emotions, and experiences and weaves them together into the continuous narrative of who you believe you are.
Your DMN is essentially the storyteller inside your head, interpreting your life experiences, assigning meaning to them, and quietly guiding you through plot lines you often unconsciously follow.
Your Brain, Always in Story Mode
Let’s bring this down to earth with relatable examples:
Think back to your childhood. Maybe you remember being praised for being smart, talented, or kind. Or perhaps your memories lean toward feeling criticized, misunderstood, or compared unfavorably with siblings or friends—experiences that left you feeling confused or uncertain about your worth. Over time, your DMN takes these fragments of experience—both joyful and painful—and stitches them into narratives that shape your self-image. It quietly decides things like, “I’m good academically but always feel like an outsider,” or “I’m not wanted or worthy.”
Without you noticing, these hidden stories influence your choices, steer your relationships, and even color your expectations. They subconsciously guide you toward experiences and people who confirm your internal narrative—no matter how challenging that story might be.
A powerful moment of clarity happened for me when I discovered there was an actual neurological basis for these stories. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t trapped in old narratives simply due to habits or weak willpower. My brain had literally wired itself to repeat these familiar patterns, carving grooves like tire tracks on a well-worn road.
But here’s the good news: if your brain can wire itself one way, it can just as surely be rewired.
A Healing Breakthrough
Learning about the DMN gave me a new kind of clarity.
Imagine driving a car—your body, mind, and emotions are the vehicle. Your Default Mode Network is like a chatty passenger, always narrating what's happening, interpreting experiences, and making suggestions. Sometimes this passenger offers helpful insights, guiding you toward meaning and deeper self-understanding. Other times, especially if you carry old wounds or trauma, it can speak harshly, becoming your inner critic.
Here’s the key: you are the driver. You hold the steering wheel. You can hear the passenger without giving up control.
I never fully grasped the weight of this truth—until one unexpected moment on the highway changed everything.
One day as I sped down the highway, I slipped into a meditative reverie. Suddenly, images of my parents, and then my grandparents started appearing in my mind’s eye. I pulled over as I received this stream of ancestors, not fully understanding what was happening, yet feeling overwhelmed by the emotion of sudden realization and epiphany. I saw their stories, their struggles—their fears, their love, their wounds—all woven into patterns passed down through generations: the immigration stories, the wartime hardships, the relationship struggles, and so much more.
Realizing this helped me tremendously—it showed me that while I couldn't silence the storyteller completely, I could choose my direction, freeing me from old scripts and self-critical voices.
Identity suddenly felt less fixed. I was no longer a passive passenger of stories shaped by past hurts, family dynamics, or societal conditioning. I could consciously choose new paths—guided, but not controlled, by my internal narratives.
This metaphor, while not perfect, gave me profound clarity. It allowed me to compassionately see myself and others, releasing blame and resentment. It also helped me set healthier boundaries because I recognized how certain subconscious stories set me up for repeating the past.
The DMN Isn't Alone
Your brain’s storyteller doesn't work alone. It constantly communicates with other key systems:
There’s the Salience Network (SN), which acts like radar scanning your surroundings for emotionally significant events. Importantly, the SN searches the external environment for evidence that confirms the DMN’s internal stories.
Then there’s the Task Positive Network (TPN), the outward looking part, which activates when you’re engaged in external tasks—focusing, problem-solving, or interacting with the world around you.
The DMN also interacts closely with deeper emotional centers like the amygdala (which manages fear and intense emotions) and the hippocampus (responsible for memory and context).
Additionally, there's your brain’s Reticular Activating System (RAS), a filter that decides which sensory experiences deserve your attention.
Your brain also features powerful reward pathways—both positive and negative—that influence whether your inner storyteller spins uplifting or painful narratives.
I'll mention these interactions in future posts, but for now, just know this: the DMN is part of an orchestra whose melody shapes the reality we experience.
Why This Matters
Becoming aware of the DMN helps explain why certain relationships, situations, and patterns repeat in our lives. This awareness matters deeply if you’ve ever felt trapped by patterns that no longer serve you—like self-doubt, unhealthy relationships, challenging circumstances, or sabotaging behaviors.
Just as understanding my brain’s inner storyteller helped me reclaim the wheel, becoming aware of your DMN is the first step toward reshaping your narrative.
This lays the foundation for upcoming posts on how your lived experiences shape your reality and how you can begin rewiring your brain by shifting your internal stories.
Because here's the beautiful truth:
Your story isn't written in stone. You have the power to rewrite it.