I struggled with sharing my own stories for a long time. If I shared them I would have shared them in filtered way. Not too “negative”, or too “dramatic” because others might feel repelled, or not too “positive” or too “bright” because there is so much suffering in the world. I used to filter those stories and mask them with persona suitable for not to be “too much” of anything.
Than I realized that sharing fragments, peaces of our lives, struggles, challenges, fears, achievements...create powerful pool that we can reach out to when we need to feel sense of community, or support, or to find those who walk or used to walk similar path as we do.
I realized one of the ways we make impact and contribute to healing processes is by telling our stories. And most of all, I realized that every story matters.
I found medicine in stories…in sharing my own stories and listening to stories of others. I found medicine in taking ownership of my own narratives regardless of how painful, or embarrassing, or strange, or weird they might sound or feel. I found medicine in allowing myself to dive into my own prejudices against my own narratives and ways I tried to systematically suppress them. I found medicine in sharing my existential fears, complex journeys of single motherhood, struggles to authentically express my needs, ways I learned to open heart and love again, strengths I found in some of the most challenging and darkest moments...I found medicine and enormous power in sharing stories and listening to stories of others.
Whether we share story on a piece of paper, or whispering it to another human’s ear, or expressing it through shapes and colors, or dancing with it...we create sacred space that others can enter, where others can find themselves individually and collectively, and used those stories as medicine.
Comments