03 Apr owning our stories
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| photo: phandroid |
I
must admit to you:
sometimes
I talk to walls.
I talk to walls.
It’s
true. Sometimes I stare straight at the blue, white, taupe, matte
structure & just rattle off important details of my life.
true. Sometimes I stare straight at the blue, white, taupe, matte
structure & just rattle off important details of my life.
Walls are my best friend when I am feeling uncomfortable.
I am in the middle of a story,
chatting away, eyeball-to-eyeball, when all of a sudden the colored
sheet rock behind the eyeballs becomes the most amusing thing in the
room. Not because it actually is, but because some of the details of
a story are painful, vulnerable & when you are staring straight
into the eyes of the listener you are bound to see the reaction to
the details.
chatting away, eyeball-to-eyeball, when all of a sudden the colored
sheet rock behind the eyeballs becomes the most amusing thing in the
room. Not because it actually is, but because some of the details of
a story are painful, vulnerable & when you are staring straight
into the eyes of the listener you are bound to see the reaction to
the details.
&
sometimes that is too much.
sometimes that is too much.
Has
this ever happened to you? Are you a wall-talker too?
this ever happened to you? Are you a wall-talker too?
When
we talk to the wall instead of a person, we shy away from the
vulnerability of our stories–which is sometimes completely
appropriate. It is like walking out onto a well-lit stage naked, but with a blindfold
on.
we talk to the wall instead of a person, we shy away from the
vulnerability of our stories–which is sometimes completely
appropriate. It is like walking out onto a well-lit stage naked, but with a blindfold
on.
“If
I can’t see you, you can’t see me!”
I can’t see you, you can’t see me!”
It’s
completely normal & sometimes a helpful defense mechanism.
completely normal & sometimes a helpful defense mechanism.
But as we heal & work through our stories, our pasts, our “stuff,”
& our baggage, there must come a point at which we can own it
entirely. {This is a process.}
& our baggage, there must come a point at which we can own it
entirely. {This is a process.}
There
is power in knowing the details of where we have been & bravely
owning them, not shying away from the pang of pity or fear or–God
forbid–judgement you might see in the eyes looking back at you. To
know that no matter what, you are secure. You know the icky stuff,
but it’s yours & you’re okay with that. It does not define you or
make you any more or less worthy of love–it is even better than that. It is the stuff
that has brought you to the person you are today & that’s
powerful.
is power in knowing the details of where we have been & bravely
owning them, not shying away from the pang of pity or fear or–God
forbid–judgement you might see in the eyes looking back at you. To
know that no matter what, you are secure. You know the icky stuff,
but it’s yours & you’re okay with that. It does not define you or
make you any more or less worthy of love–it is even better than that. It is the stuff
that has brought you to the person you are today & that’s
powerful.
That’s really powerful.
That’s change-your-entire-perspective-of-the-icky-details powerful. That’s
stand-fully-exposed-in-the-light-and-not-hide-from-the-shadows-but-say-thank-you-for-teaching-me
powerful.
stand-fully-exposed-in-the-light-and-not-hide-from-the-shadows-but-say-thank-you-for-teaching-me
powerful.
Here’s the thing, this power can be threatened
with one word, one eyebrow, or one sigh from a person undeserving of
hearing your story– & only you can distinguish the difference between deserving or undeserving.
with one word, one eyebrow, or one sigh from a person undeserving of
hearing your story– & only you can distinguish the difference between deserving or undeserving.
A friend recently told me that our stories are gifts
we either choose to give to others or not.
we either choose to give to others or not.
I choose to give mine, but sometimes people are
undeserving of such a gift.
undeserving of such a gift.
Sometimes people are not ready for our gifts.
Sometimes people don’t know what to do with them & that’s okay.
Sometimes people don’t know what to do with them & that’s okay.
In owning our own power of our stories, we must
be cautious with whom we choose to share.
be cautious with whom we choose to share.
Brené Brown says it this way:
“Our stories are not meant for everyone. Hearing them is a privilege, and we should always ask ourselves this before we share: “Who has earned the right to hear my story?” If we have one or two people in our lives who can sit with us and hold space for our shame stories, and love us for our strengths and struggles, we are incredibly lucky. If we have a friend, or small group of friends, or family who embraces our imperfections, vulnerabilities, and power, and fills us with a sense of belonging, we are incredibly lucky.”
Find your people. Look around you for those who
protect your scary stories. Hold close those who honor & applaud
your imperfect vulnerability & who share the same full exposure
with you.
protect your scary stories. Hold close those who honor & applaud
your imperfect vulnerability & who share the same full exposure
with you.
In protecting yourself from those who haven’t yet
earned the honor of hearing your story, don’t lock yourself up, don’t
hide away. Simply be honoring of where you are & where others are.
earned the honor of hearing your story, don’t lock yourself up, don’t
hide away. Simply be honoring of where you are & where others are.
We are all on our own journeys. We all have our own
stories.
stories.
Carry them with care & grace.
____________________________________________________
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p.s. There is nothing wrong with being a wall-talker. You do not need to seek psychiatric help. […i don’t think.]
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