I was reading Robert Glazer’s newsletter last week and came across a study I had to read twice.

In 1980, psychologists at Dartmouth studied how people with physical differences believe others view them. They applied a fake scar to each participant’s face and let them see it in the mirror. Then, under the guise of a final touch-up, the makeup artist removed it completely – without telling them – before sending them out to a job interview.

They walked into the interview looking exactly like themselves. And yet when it was over, the participants reported high levels of discrimination and specific comments from the interviewers they believed were related to their appearance.

I kept thinking: Did they actually remove the scar?

The idea that what we believe shapes what we experience isn’t a new one.

It’s something I come back to constantly in coaching and in my own life. But this study made me think even deeper about the stories we tell ourselves.

An imagined scar. And yet their entire experience was built around it.

This hit close to home. After breast cancer treatment I developed lymphedema – my right arm became significantly larger than my left. I spent so much time consumed by how it looked. I was certain it was the only thing anyone would see before I said a word.

Obsession is putting it mildly.

Two years ago, I had lymphatic bypass surgery and my arm returned to nearly normal. Afterward, when I mentioned my surgery to people I knew, many said they hadn’t even noticed my arm before. I wanted to ask – how can you not notice an arm that was 50% larger than the other one?

That was the point. It consumed so much of my thinking and how I perceived others saw me.

I see this constantly in the people I work with. The scars aren’t always visible:

  • A business owner convinced her age is the reason people don’t take her seriously.
  • A founder certain her accent is the reason she didn’t get the funding.
  • A colleague who spent 14 years certain she’d damaged a friendship over unsolicited advice. When they reconnected, her friend didn’t remember the exchange at all.

 
We’re constantly making up stories – some serve us and some don’t.

We’re evidence collectors. We decide what’s happening and then accumulate every piece of evidence to confirm it. Psychologists call this confirmation bias – the mind finds what it’s already looking for.

The Dartmouth participants weren’t lying. Their experience was completely real to them. So was mine.

Every time I was asked to speak or lead a group, my first thought wasn’t about what I had to offer. It was about my arm and whether I wanted to deal with having everyone staring at it. How many opportunities did I miss – or show up for at half-capacity – because my focus was on how I thought I looked rather than on what I wanted to share?

The way out isn’t pretending the scar isn’t there. It’s remembering that feelings aren’t facts.

This doesn’t mean the discomfort isn’t real. It’s about remembering that the stories we tell ourselves often aren’t.

Once I can see that difference – even for a moment – everything shifts.

So here’s what I’d ask you: Where are you wearing a scar no one else can see? And what would change if you stopped letting it lead?

Until next time,
Margalit