There is such a gift in the telling of a story, the sharing of pain and trauma, the trust of the person who reveals that pain. I am never numb to it and always grateful when I have the opportunity to hear the stories I have heard. No matter what the pain, the very fact that they are being told is hopeful, inspiring, and uplifting. Taking a person's story into your body and relating to it is one of the most human things we can do. The gift of a story can never be overstated, and when the teller wants to use that story to inspire change, or empathy, or hope, the gift becomes a blessing. For so long, my stories have been excuses. I used them to excuse my bad behavior all through my twenties and thirties, and even in my last relationship, I used the trauma of my youth to explain why I could not believe that my partner loved me. I look back at all the ways I rejected the idea that he loved me, all the times I looked for proof that he didn't love me, and I know down to the soles of my feet that I was proving to myself, once again, that I am unlovable. But something in the ending of that relationship woke me up to this. Maybe it was that I had finally had enough. Maybe it was that every other part of my life was so different, so honest, that I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. I had to find my way back to my joy, to my love, to my perspective of bliss. I know now that ending it was good for me, for us, because I see it differently now. And though he and I have become great friends, there is still a difference in the way we see it. It was astonishing to me that the last time we spoke, he spoke of what he was doing with others, and I was still trying to convey that I had wanted to be treated differently. That no matter who he told his story to, how ardently they agreed with his view, I know, I wanted to be treated in a different way, and I had to leave the relationship to re-frame that for myself. I had to be alone to consider what I really need in my life. I had to start really treating myself differently. And that was the biggest difference in the break up. I know when I talk with people about their stories there are many sides, many differences in opinion, and a whole lot of ways to see something. I respect the pain my partner felt at me not believing I was lovable, and being afraid that he would leave me if he found someone better, I own that and will never be able to make up for doubting his love. The wonderful thing that has come of all of this for me is that now, I have no doubt that he loves me. I would take that to the bank, and I know that his perspective, though it doesn't exactly mesh with mine, is worthy of my respect and compassion. I know that we will be friends because we can each have our perspective and still love each other. My personal story, my journey through this life is no different. I could still be mad at my parents, at my abusers, at everyone who I feel has ever wronged me, but I am not. I have come to a place where my blaming mechanism sets off an alarm in my gut which alerts my nervous system that I am upset about something I have done. Upset about something I have not asked for. Upset about something I have not taken a stand for. So when I go to blame or judgment, I know it's about me. My body no longer lets me get away with believing that it is anything other than that. There is still the stress in it. There is still the profound sadness in knowing that my anger is around my own actions, and there is still a struggle and a lot of work around getting to personal responsibility, but I do it, because no matter how long it takes, if I get there, I am free. Free from being the victim of others, free from feeling vulnerable, free from the fear of the unknown. This work creates a more resilient form of me every time I do it. So I work at it and I will keep working at it until it becomes muscle memory, just like believing I was unlovable used to be. I told a new friend the other day that I used to be known as "Angry Sara," and that, at that time, I was afraid if I let go of my anger and my persona, that I might just disappear. She couldn't believe the person in front of her could have ever been that. It was and is always a joy to tell this story, because in this story, I am not the person I used to be. In this story, I am altogether transformed. This is the story that came from letting the other stories go. So much has happened in the last week it is kind of hard to metabolize it all, but I have a lot going on and coming up. AND, if you didn't know, I also write on Medium.
2 Comments
Franca
7/28/2019 12:01:30 pm
I find you incredibly inspiring.... very informative...and you lead by example.... I love following you and learning so much! 😋 thank you!!!
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Sara YoungIs an artist, a philosopher, a writer and a teacher. She will be writing random thoughts here. Follow along if you are interested. BlogThis is the NEW Blog on Creativity. I have started it here to continue on the many years of writing I have done here and in other places. Subscribe to my Newsletter below if you want updates every time I write a blog, which will be once a week. Old Site |