Tony Robbins says this is the real reason you’re not where you want to be

A couple of years ago, I kept telling people I wanted to launch a side project—something creative, something mine. Maybe a podcast, maybe a guide, maybe even just a blog that wasn’t connected to work.

And yet every time I sat down to start, I felt this weird resistance. Not fear, not laziness—something foggier. I’d get all pumped from watching someone else do it, get ready to write or record something, then… hit a wall.

I blamed timing, structure, and even my noisy neighbors. But really? I just didn’t believe it was something I could actually do.

Around this time, I stumbled across something author and leadership coach Tony Robbins often talks about: how much of what we say is holding us back is just a reflection of the story we’ve built about ourselves. A narrative. A mental script we don’t even realize we’re following.

And when I sat with that, I realized—I wasn’t stuck because of time. I was stuck because of a story I didn’t even know I was still telling.

Let’s talk about that story.

The stories we tell ourselves become the ceilings we live under

It’s easy to think the biggest barriers in our lives are external—money, time, gatekeepers, bad luck. And yes, those things are real and frustrating. But they’re usually not what’s stopping us from taking step one.

Most of the time, the biggest blocker is internal.

We’ve unknowingly written scripts about ourselves—what we’re capable of, what we’re worthy of, how far we’re allowed to go—and then we act them out on autopilot.

This is where Tony Robbins drops the hammer with one of his most quoted lines:

“The only thing that’s keeping you from getting what you want is the story you keep telling yourself about why you can’t have it.”

It stings a bit, doesn’t it?

Not because it’s mean—but because it’s true.

These stories sneak in quietly. You don’t remember writing them, but they show up in the way you flinch when you try something new. In the justifications you give when something feels too big. In the assumptions you make when you see someone else doing what you want to do.

I had a whole narrative playing in my head that said: “I’m more of a behind-the-scenes person. I don’t really have the kind of voice people want to follow.” That was the core belief.

Everything else—the stalling, the over-planning, the “I’m just figuring things out right now”—was decoration.

And it’s not just me. You probably have your own version of this too.

These stories didn’t come from nowhere—but they don’t have to stay

Most of our limiting beliefs were formed years ago, often without us realizing it.

Maybe it was something a parent said when you were a kid, not intending harm. Maybe it was a teacher’s offhand comment. Maybe you tried something once, it went badly, and your brain filed that under “let’s not do that again.”

These stories are often protective. They try to keep us safe, away from risk, embarrassment, rejection. But the problem is, they’re not true. They’re just familiar.

And as author and researcher Dr. Brené Brown puts it, “The most dangerous stories we make up are the narratives that diminish our inherent worthiness.”

That’s exactly what most of these stories do. They diminish what’s possible for us by distorting who we think we are.

When you’ve been repeating something for years—even just in your head—it starts to feel factual. But repetition doesn’t make a belief true. It just makes it sticky.

And stickiness is not the same as truth.

How your story shapes your behavior (without you noticing)

Here’s the tricky part: you don’t even need to be aware of your story for it to influence your behavior.

If your internal narrative says you’re “not the type of person who speaks up,” you won’t even think to raise your hand in a meeting.

If your story is “I always mess things up eventually,” you might subconsciously self-sabotage when things start going well—just to stay consistent with your identity.

As Robbins has said many times, “The strongest force in the human personality is the need to stay consistent with how we define ourselves.”

That line hit me hard the first time I read it. Because if your identity is shaped around being the underdog, the behind-the-scenes person, the one who “doesn’t quite make it,” then guess what? Your brain will find ways to prove that story true—even when it’s not.

And this isn’t some mystical, woo-woo idea. It’s grounded in how our brains are wired. We’re designed to seek cognitive consistency, even at the cost of progress.

So if your actions don’t align with your goals, don’t just tweak your goals—examine the narrative that’s running the show behind them.

How to change the story without faking it

This part is crucial: you don’t need to swing from “I can’t do this” to “I’m the best in the world” in order to make change. That kind of leap usually doesn’t stick.

Instead, aim for something in between. Something believable. Flexible. Slightly better than where you’ve been.

For example:

• Instead of “I’m terrible with follow-through,” try: “I’m learning how to follow through by making things smaller and more consistent.”

• Instead of “I’ll never be financially stable,” try: “I’m figuring out how to build more stability, step by step.”

• Instead of “I’m just not creative,” try: “I haven’t explored creativity much yet—but maybe I could.”

This isn’t toxic positivity. It’s a subtle reframe that creates room to try something new.

That little shift in language matters. It keeps your identity loose, and when your identity is loose, you’re more willing to experiment.

That’s when behavior starts to change. And once you act differently—even a little—you start to collect new evidence that your story can be rewritten.

Start with one line

I know this can feel vague in theory, so here’s something I’ve actually done:

I took a sticky note, wrote the phrase “I finish what I start”, and stuck it above my desk. It didn’t feel true at first. In fact, it felt ridiculous.

But I didn’t write it to convince myself. I wrote it to interrupt the voice that said otherwise. To create just enough space between “I never follow through” and whatever came next.

It worked. Slowly. Not magically. But it did.

Now I do this any time I feel stuck in the old narrative. I write a new line. One that I can practice believing. One that nudges me to act.

And that’s the point, really. You don’t need to believe the new story 100% to move forward. You just need to believe it enough to try.

Final words

We all have stories we’ve been telling ourselves. Some are helpful. Some are… not.

And when it comes to building a better life—whether that means starting something new, changing your habits, or simply believing you’re allowed to want more—what matters most isn’t how smart you are, or how much time you have.

It’s whether the story you’re living by is still serving you.

So maybe the most powerful thing you can do today isn’t take action.

Maybe it’s this:
Pause.
Catch the story.
Decide if it’s yours to keep.

Because if Tony Robbins is right—and I think he is—then the gap between where you are and where you want to be isn’t defined by your limits. It’s defined by the limits you believe in.

And stories, luckily, can always be rewritten.