Own Your Story (or it Will Own You)

If I had to assign a word to this moment, this day, this past week in my life, it would be abundance. My mom, now fully vaccinated, is visiting from California. Her presence has opened space all around me—space to connect, space to rest, space to simply be. In this moment, I have everything I need and more. I’m lounging on my front porch, enjoying a bowl of roasted veggies and watching three brand new calves explore their brand new world. They are swishing their little tails against the same breeze and nosing at the same grass, but I wonder: do they each experience it in the same way? Apparently not, since two have just flopped down to rest, while the other is wandering farther and farther from the group, testing the limits of her autonomy.

We each experience the world differently, too. Part of this, of course, is because we are not living in the same patch of grass. Sure, we are all long-haulers, but some among us deal with more debilitating or persistent symptoms than others, some have more financial resources or social support to fall back on, and some carry greater burdens of injustice, loss, or trauma. The basic facts of our experiences differ, and the stories we tell ourselves about those facts vary.

We do not get to choose every aspect of our circumstances. We do, however, have the power to choose our stories. We are not characters in a novel, pushed and pulled by the writer’s pen. We are authors.

Each of us has an entire library of possible stories that we could tell about our lives. Even if we limit ourselves to true stories (generally a good idea), the possibilities are numerous. For example, I can tell myself that I have everything I need and more, which is true right now and wakes within me a deep sense of gratitude and abundance. Or I can tell myself that since I don’t qualify for disability (I spent one year too many as a stay-at-home mom) and don’t know when I’ll be well enough to work, my financial future is very uncertain. That is also true. I could run with this aspect of my story, writing myself out of the present moment and into a bleak, imaginary corner. But the same creativity that makes it possible for my brain to spiral into anxiety over events that haven’t actually happened can also help me see the possibilities of this moment.

I’m not well enough for a regular job . . . but I can write, which happens to be my dream job anyway. I can continue to nourish and care for my body. I can observe and celebrate each small milestone of healing. I can give to others. I can smell spring flowers and watch newborn calves at play. What an awful waste it would be to throw away this beautiful day because a couple years from now my finances might really suck.

Maybe your finances already suck. Maybe the basic facts of today are harder to craft into a story that lives and breathes on the page. I think that’s a sign to watch for—a sign of helpful story-telling. Do the stories that you’re telling yourself help you to feel alive to this moment? Do they allow you to feel a sense of possibility or curiosity as you look to the future? Or, do your stories make you feel stuck, afraid, as if the breath is being squeezed out of you? If a story is keeping you stuck, trash it. Go back to the basic facts, and feel your way into a fresh angle.

Ultimately, we have two choices: we can own our stories, taking responsibility for them. Or our stories can own us.

What stories have you sent to the trash lately? What stories are helping you to live more fully?

P.S. My connections with you help my story to live and breathe - thank you for your presence, your friendship, and your support. As always, comments, likes, shares, emails, and coffees are deeply appreciated!