When consistency stunts growth
I’ve been mulling something over that surfaced during this week’s podcast recording, and I’d be interested to know whether it resonates with you too.
We seem to admire consistency almost without question. In many situations that’s no bad thing. I can readily work with people who I don’t have to walk on eggshells around. I can trust people who do what they say they’re going to do. I admire integrity, reliability and those who remain true to their values, especially, when life becomes a little more demanding. Those qualities matter. They’re the sort of people I choose to spend my time with, personally and professionally.
But I’m not talking about that sort of consistency this time.
I’m talking about the consistency we expect of ourselves, and often of one another, when it comes to who we are.
It strikes me that changing our mind about ourselves is one of the changes we don’t always welcome. Actually, let me go further than that. Not only do we not welcome that kind of change, we can often flat-out reject it. But change is ever present in our lives. We proudly learn new skills, develop new interests, move to our dream neighbourhood, change careers, and discover food we once swore we’d never eat. (Olives spring immediately to mind. I spent years wondering why anybody would voluntarily put one in their mouth. Now they’re one of my favourite nibbles. Funny old world.)
Yet suggest that perhaps we’re no longer the person we once believed ourselves to be, and things become rather more uncomfortable. If you want an example, think about a formerly overweight friend or colleague. Have you noticed that they still walk as though they are carrying that extra weight? Just an observation, but I know that’s what I did.
Why is that?
I’ve noticed how often people describe themselves using information that seems to have passed its sell-by date. “I’m not very confident.” “I’m hopeless at networking.” “I’ve never been leadership material.” They are the kind of labels that surfaced during my podcast, and by the end, it helped me to acknowledge that there was another question patiently waiting for me that I needed to address.
The interesting thing is that, quite often, the evidence no longer supports the conclusion. They’ve led teams, navigated difficult conversations, started businesses, raised families, survived redundancy, cared for ageing parents and done countless other things that would have astonished the younger version of themselves.
Yet the description remains untouched.
It’s almost as though the identity was laminated years ago and nobody thought or dared to issue an updated version. I mean, laminates are designed to last right?
I don’t think that’s because we’re being dishonest. Quite the opposite. Most of us are trying to be consistent. We want to be known as genuine people. We don’t want to appear fickle or as though we’re reinventing ourselves every five minutes depending on which way the wind happens to be blowing. We’re seeing far too much of that on socials recently so people think it’s what they ‘ought’ to do.
The trouble is that consistency and authenticity aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Authenticity asks us to be truthful about who we are today.
Consistency often encourages us to remain loyal to who we were yesterday.
Those two things sit comfortably together for a while, until one day they don’t.
I wonder whether that’s why personal growth can feel unexpectedly unsettling. We assume we’re being pushed to become somebody notably different, someone we don’t even aspire to be. Perhaps what’s really being asked of us is something far simpler. To acknowledge that we’ve changed, and that change can be good if it’s intentional and for the right reasons.
That sounds perfectly reasonable until you remember, with a tinge of sadness or guilt, that the person you’re leaving behind probably served you rather well.
Perhaps they helped you fit in when fitting in felt like the only option.
Perhaps they kept you safe when confidence was in short supply.
Perhaps they became known as the dependable one, the capable one, the peacemaker or the quiet observer because those qualities opened doors and built relationships.
Why wouldn’t you feel grateful for that version of yourself?
I certainly would.
Indeed, I was.
The difficulty begins when gratitude quietly turns into obligation, often aided and abetted by our Inner Critic. Gladys, my inner critic is really good at reminding me of supposed obligations. We stop appreciating the role that version of ourselves once played is no longer needed and start believing we’re duty bound to keep playing it forever. That’s a rather heavy burden to place on any identity, particularly one that was only ever meant to carry us through a particular season of life.
I’ve come to believe that many of our strengths begin life as choices and slowly become expectations. We choose to help because it feels right. Before long we’re the person everyone relies upon. We choose to stay calm under pressure because it serves both us and the situation. Eventually we’re the one who feels unable to admit we’re struggling. We become so well known for a particular quality that we begin protecting the identity wrapped around it, even when doing so no longer serves us.
Perhaps that’s the real cost of loyalty to an outdated identity.
Not that it stops us changing altogether. Life has a habit of seeing to that whether we like it or not because changing is part of the human condition.
The cost is that we keep trying to squeeze today’s version of ourselves into yesterday’s understanding of who we were. It’s a bit like insisting on wearing a favourite coat you’ve loved for years because it reminds you of good times, despite being threadbare and not fitting properly. The coat isn’t at fault.
It simply wasn’t designed for the person you’ve become.
That leaves me with a question I’ve been asking myself more often lately.
Am I holding on because this version of me still accurately reflects who I am, or simply because it’s become familiar and comfortable?
They’re not quite the same thing.
Exploring that question honestly and deeply with my coach, mentor, and accountability buddies has revealed some uncomfortable truths. I see now with absolute clarity that living a truly fulfilling life requires my intentional ‘unfolding’, not my mindless unravelling. It requires my growth not my stagnation. It requires the courage to continually experiment and not take myself too seriously.
It also requires us to notice and then pay close attention to the evidence of our growth, of our becoming rather than dismiss it casually, or out of embarrassment. That realisation proved to be so powerful for me that I decided to unpack it in this month’s edition of The Flourishing Nudge. I imagine you’ll find it powerful too.
If flourishing has taught me anything, it’s that growing isn’t an act of disloyalty. We don’t diminish the person we once were by allowing ourselves to become more than we ever imagined possible.
Quite the opposite really.
Perhaps the kindest thing we can do is thank that earlier version of ourselves for getting us this far, then allow them a well-earned retirement, wouldn’t you agree?
After all, consistency has its place.
I just don’t think it should ever come at the expense of growth.
The Original Flourishing Introvert, Cage Rattler & Bias Shifter – Helping organisations unlock potential by shifting extraversion bias | Coaching quiet leaders | TEDx Speaker | Trainer | Founder, CEO – Flourishing Introverts | Host – The Flourishing Introvert Talks and (dropping) Pebbles in the Pond | Author – The Flourishing Nudge | Co-Flourisher, Co-Founder – Intent to Flourish
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The Flourishing Nudge - LinkedIn Newsletter
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