I have my old stories. You have yours. We all have them. It’s how we learned to make sense of the world around us, and sometimes still do.
These old stories about what’s happened to me in the past often continue to rule how I perceive and react to things in the present. I may have constructed the stories to help me understand painful or confusing circumstances. Or they may have been a way for me to cope with difficult or perplexing life events. And then, over time, I got stuck in those stories and they got in the way of my joy.
One of the musicians in the church Ed and I attend, not only sings joyfully, but his entire being radiates joy.
Last Sunday, we thanked him and asked what his secret was: “How is it that you can project such joy every time we see you?”
Here’s what he said.
“I was in a near-constant state of suicidal depression for a very long time. What got me out of that depression and keeps me out is this: I feel my feelings deeply, but I let go of the stories behind them.”
I’ve been fortunate to not suffer from long bouts of depression. But our musician’s approach for getting out and staying out of his depressed state provided a valuable reminder about the power of my old stories that lurk just beneath the surface.
Probably my most cherished old trauma story, one that I’ve told myself over and over during the course of my life, is that my family let me down and I had to take care of myself.
I grew up believing from a very young age that no one would take care of me, and that I was the only one I could ever really depend on. The star of my story was me being strong and invulnerable against the world. This story did give me the strength to cope with managing my life when I was, in fact, quite young and alone. But later in life, long after these conditions no longer existed, that story still led me to create a façade of strength that often kept me from vulnerably opening myself to others. Of course, soon my story became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Quite literally, my story did help protect me at one point in my life. It kept me safe, allowed me to survive. I’m not at all surprised that for years I fought hard to keep the walls around me strong and impenetrable.
So should I now let go of that story? If I believe the masses of experts on the web telling me how to do this, it’s as simple as becoming aware of my story and then making the choice to let it go. Try Googling “Letting Go of Your Story.” It’s utterly remarkable how many therapists are saying the same thing: Just make the choice and let it go.
If it were that simple, I wouldn’t keep hearing the common complaint we’ve all heard over and over again: “I’ve been in therapy. I’ve done my work. But I still keep falling into my old destructive patterns.”
My take on this is that the moment I think I have let go of my old stories, they will find a way to burst forth when I least expect them. This is because I don’t believe it’s possible to ever completely leave my stories behind. My life has been far too intertwined with them for too long.
Instead of assuming I have truly let go of my old story, I choose to always know that it’s there, under the surface, waiting to emerge and trap me into my old patterns. And when it shows itself, as it still sometimes does, I choose to smile at it and invite it to stay where it is.
And what about the musician at our church?
I’m guessing he’s still very aware of the power of those stories that brought him down. Maybe by “letting go,” he means that he no longer gives them power to do so, while knowing they will always be with him.
But I’ll ask him about it the next time I see him.
Like Marlena I too have many old stories that have guided my life for decades. One of the biggest for me is that I am in some way defective, just not good enough and that I must keep up a façade so that others around me don’t find out. Naturally, when I take it seriously, this old story makes taking risks and being vulnerable difficult.
Instead of continuing my fight to let go of the story, maybe it’s time to follow Marlena’s advice, smile at the story, and invite it to stay where it is.
I have the same facade. Feeling like I’ve been a fake my whole life & “they” are going to find out & expose my weaknesses. It’s called “Imposter syndrome.” It makes me feel better that I’m not the only one. 😉
So true, Tina. “They” are probably feeling like imposters as well. So we all run around, feeling like we’re fakes…if it weren’t so tragic, it would almost be funny, wouldn’t it?
I love this piece. Yes, we run our stories over and over and over in our minds. We solidify them even more as time passes. Whenever I get a headache, instead of wishing it weren’t there, I acknowledge it. Fully. I hone in on the pain (one inch behind my eyes), give it a color (violet) and give it a size (half a peanut butter sandwich). I’ve found that by truly acknowledging it, it often dissipates. I need to do the same process with my “stories.”
Yes, what a great way to truly acknowledge the stories – so very much the opposite of pretending they’re no longer there. Thank you, Jude!
Love this! Well put, dear sister. I really like you making the point that the stories will stay with us, but that we have some choice in how much power we give them. Working on recognizing and validating my stories often really helps them tone down (like Judith noted above), and gives me the space to refocus on a more true and life-giving narrative.
Thank you for joining this conversation, Mary Lou! You are ever so much more qualified to speak to this issue, as a licensed therapist. I just struggle with my stories – rather than really knowing what it’s all about.
A question for you: What do you make of all of the many therapists out there, promising to help people let go of their stories?
I have been pondering this question. I have witnessed people finding release from their old stories, at least to a degree. It’s just not something you can promise. The path to healing is so unique and complex that it is hard to predict. For some it can be a rather dramatic shift, and for others it is more like a journey of learning to live well with the stories still activated at times, which may actually be a path of deeper and more intense transformation. I work with both: the coping and the rewiring, and try to listen and notice the openings, or the calling, within each person; usually it’s some combination of the two. Both are valid and worthy, when the work is rooted in truth (rather than what I/they wish were true).
Ah yes, I can imagine that a slow “rewiring” might be more transformational than a quick release. But we do tend to want the quick fixes, don’t we? Thank you for this!