In 1996, two researchers, Avraham Kluger and Angelo DeNisi, pulled together decades of studies on what happens when people are given feedback about their performance. Their meta-analysis covered more than 600 effect sizes and over 23,000 observations. On average, feedback helped. But in more than a third of the cases, it made performance worse.
Not neutral. Worse.
That finding has stayed with me since I first came across it, because it explains something I kept seeing while writing my book. Two people can look at the exact same honest picture of their life. One uses it to change direction. The other uses it to build a stronger case for why nothing can change. The information is identical. What differs is the mindset receiving it. Some of us call the second pattern a victim mentality, though as you’ll see, I think that label is both too harsh and too narrow.
Kluger and DeNisi had their own explanation. Feedback tends to work when it keeps your attention on the task: what happened, what to try next. It tends to backfire when it pulls your attention up to the self: what this says about me, whether I’m good enough, who is to blame. Hold that idea. It’s going to matter.
One of the fourteen people I interviewed for BOUNDLESS was Pawan Kumar, a key account manager in Mumbai. Some of you will remember his line from an earlier issue about people going to work only to pay the EMI. This week I want to share the moment that came before that.
A few months before we spoke, Pawan was sitting at his dining table when someone asked him a simple question. How satisfied are you with your life, one to ten?
“Ten,” he said. No hesitation.
Then a friend pushed back and asked him to rate each area separately. Health. Marriage. Children. Career. Money. Friends. Mental health. Pawan started writing, confident at first, and then slowed down halfway through. When he added it up, his average came to 4.875.
“I thought I was winning,” he told me. “Turns out I’m just surviving. There’s a difference.”
I love that moment, because almost everyone has a version of it. Last week and the week before, I wrote about the Quality of Life Wheel and the pillars that hold a life up. Those are tools for taking an honest look. But here’s the uncomfortable part I’ve been holding back. The honest look is only the first half. What you do with a 4.875 depends almost entirely on where you’re standing when you see it.
Before we get to the stages, it helps to know that none of us receive bad news about ourselves neutrally. We’re built not to.
In 2004, a team led by Amy Mezulis reviewed 266 studies on what psychologists call the self-serving bias: the habit of taking credit for good outcomes and pointing outward for bad ones. The bias showed up in nearly every sample they looked at, and the average effect was large. One detail I found interesting for those of us in India: Asian samples showed a noticeably smaller bias than American ones. Smaller, though, is not absent. We still do it.
Then there’s the neuroscience. In a 2011 study, Tali Sharot and her colleagues at University College London asked people to estimate their risk of various bad life events, then showed them the real averages. When the news was better than expected, people updated their beliefs readily. When it was worse, they barely moved. The brain, it turns out, takes in good news about our future far more easily than bad news.
So when Pawan saw his 4.875, his mind didn’t simply record the number. It started doing what every mind does: softening, explaining, rearranging. The question is what it rearranges the number into.
In the book, I describe five stages of mindset that people pass through in how they relate to their own life. Awareness isn’t a switch you flip on or off. It’s a staircase, and very few people start at the top.
At Stage 1, the Victim, the low score is somebody else’s fault. The boss, the economy, the in-laws, the city, the timing. The number is real, but the cause is always outside.
At Stage 2, the Pessimist, you stop blaming everyone else. You see the problem clearly. And then you build a careful, intelligent case for why you can’t fix it yet. I think this is the most dangerous stage, because it feels so close to awake. You sound self-aware. You can describe your situation in detail. You just never move.
At Stage 3, the Optimist, there’s no blame and no excuse-building. There’s acceptance. “This is just how life is.” “Everyone’s tired.” “It’s fine.” It feels mature, even peaceful. But accepting a 4.875 as normal is not the same as being at peace with it.
At Stage 4, the Realist, the question changes. Not “why is this happening to me” but “what choices led here, and what can I learn from them?”
At Stage 5, the Seeker, that question stops being a one-time event and becomes a way of living. You go looking for the low scores before they come looking for you.
Here’s the part that matters most for anyone who has ever filled in a life assessment. Below Stage 4, the assessment mostly gives you more to work with in the wrong direction. A Victim gets more to blame. A Pessimist gets more to justify. An Optimist gets more to accept. The same honest look, three different ways of staying exactly where you are.
To make this concrete, picture someone, not any particular person, who gives their health a 3 out of 10. At Stage 1 they say, “My job doesn’t leave me any time.” At Stage 2: “I know exactly what I should be doing, but with the kids’ exams and the quarter closing, it’s not realistic until next year.” At Stage 3: “Nobody my age is in great shape. It’s fine.” At Stage 4, the sentence sounds different: “I’ve said yes to every late-evening call for two years. What happens if I say no to two of them a week?” Same 3. Only one of those sentences contains a next step.
I want to be careful here, because the phrase “victim mentality” gets thrown around too casually, often by people who have never been on the receiving end of anything.
Real harm exists. My family lost everything in the November 1984 riots when I was ten. Nobody owed us a lecture about mindset that winter. Being wronged is not a stage. It’s a fact.
What the research describes is something different. In 2020, psychologists Rahav Gabay, Boaz Hameiri, Tammy Rubel-Lifschitz, and Arie Nadler published work on what they called the Tendency for Interpersonal Victimhood: an ongoing feeling of being the victim across many relationships, not just one. They identified four parts to it: a strong need to have your suffering recognised, a sense of moral superiority, reduced empathy for others, and rumination, replaying the hurt again and again. Their point wasn’t that people who feel this way haven’t been hurt. It’s that the stance, once it becomes a default, starts running your life on its own.
That’s how I think about Stage 1. It’s not a judgement about what happened to you. It’s a description of where your attention goes afterward. Remember Kluger and DeNisi: feedback fails when it pulls attention away from the task and toward the self. Rumination is exactly that. It keeps you staring at the injury instead of the next step.
If I had to name the stage I met most often in my interviews, it wouldn’t be Victim. It would be Optimist.
Most of the people I spoke to weren’t blaming anyone. They weren’t building elaborate excuses. They had simply settled. Their health had slipped, a friendship had faded, their evenings belonged to a screen, and they’d folded all of it into a single word: fine. That’s an observation from my own interviews, not a scientific survey, but it matched what Sharot’s research would predict. Bad news gets absorbed quietly, and life carries on at a slightly lower level than before.
Fine is where a lot of careers stall. It’s also where a lot of marriages, bodies, and friendships go quiet without anyone deciding they should.
The move from Stage 3 to Stage 4 isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t take a crisis or a retreat in the mountains. It takes one honest question, asked about one number, without either blaming someone or beating yourself up.
This is where people often go wrong when they try to take responsibility for their life. They swing from blaming everyone else straight to blaming themselves, which is just the Victim stage pointed inward. “It’s all my fault” keeps your attention on the self just as surely as “it’s all their fault” does.
The Realist question is different because it points at choices, not character. Try it this week. Pick your lowest score from any honest look at your life, a wheel, a journal page, a conversation with your spouse. Then write down three answers to one question: what choices, mine or otherwise, led to this number?
Not who’s to blame. Not what’s wrong with you. Just the choices.
You’ll probably notice some answers that belong to other people, and that’s fine. Name them. Then circle the one choice that was yours and that you could make differently in the next thirty days. That single circle is the step from Stage 3 to Stage 4. Pawan didn’t need to fix every area of his life the night he found his 4.875. He needed to stop rounding it up to ten.
And if you find yourself doing this exercise again a month from now, without anyone asking you to, that’s what the fifth stage looks like from the inside. Not a dramatic transformation. Just a habit of checking the numbers before life checks them for you.
There’s a reason this is hard to do alone. Every stage below Realist feels reasonable from the inside. The Victim feels justified. The Pessimist feels intelligent. The Optimist feels grown up. None of them feel stuck, which is exactly why they stay put. A good coach doesn’t argue with your story. They help you notice which stage is doing the talking, and they keep your attention on the next choice rather than the old verdict.
If you read this and recognised your own staircase, it’s worth a real conversation. You can book a no-obligation discovery call with a certified Boundless You life coach at business.boundlessyou.in, and we’ll look at your honest numbers together, without blame in either direction.
Next week in Redesign Your Life: the 6 Cs of Integration, and why the people who handle a full life well aren’t the ones with the most discipline, but the ones who stopped treating each part of it as a separate fight.
- Ranjeet
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