The Stories That We Tell Ourselves

What are the well-worn stories that you've been holding onto,
like a horse that's going nowhere?

What is your story? Perhaps you have many of them to tell. I know that I do. Stories can be wonderful things, like if you're a new Grandpa holding your grandchild on your knee, or if you're out for a beer and you exaggerate the size of the trout you caught up north last weekend.

But what if our stories are getting in the way of our ability to move forward and live our lives?

Some of you who are reading this will know portions, if not large portions of my background; I've written about it many, many times now. My story has been this: I grew up in a dysfunctional household and was emotionally and verbally abused by my father, when I wasn't being neglected. My story continues: Largely as a result of this abuse and neglect, I developed severe depression and anxiety issues and something called complex PTSD. This became my story for, well, pretty much my entire life up until now. I was a mental health advocate several years ago, running a website along with YouTube, Facebook and Twitter pages to promote it. I spoke fairly regularly about my depression and anxiety, gaining lots of kudos in the process for being so open.

I also have an old, time-worn story about my experience with what I call religious abuse within a fundamentalist context. I used to write and talk about this almost as much as I would tell my story about living with depression and anxiety.

The sad thing about good stories is that they always have to come to an end, no matter how gripping or captivating the book or magazine article is. We either enjoy them greatly or they're such well-worn traditions that we keep them on our bookshelves and we may or may not pick them up a couple times a year.

However, the good thing about sad stories is that they also can come to an end, no matter how gripping or horrible they are. Now, the last thing that I'm saying here is that we should poo-poo our awful experiences and not take a good long look at them. The road to healing from our nightmarish stories often goes through facing and talking about whatever we've been through. Often this involves a therapist or a trusted friend or perhaps a minister of some kind. But there comes a time when our stories are no longer just stories - they become almost our complete life narrative. "I have dealt with depression, anxiety and other illnesses as well as religious abuse" so easily becomes "I am depressed, anxious, and abused." This can go on, and in my case has gone on for years.

No matter how awful our stories can be, we keep reading and re-reading from the same old book, often because it has become comfortable like our favourite pair of holey jeans or a comfy but tattered sweater. Or perhaps our favourite blankie from when we were children. Another reason that we hold onto our stories and keep repeating them is because we don't know anything else, and we're kinda scared shitless to move forward into the unknown. This is where I currently am. This can also be where a therapist or good friend can come into play.

No matter how comfortable or familiar our stories that we tell ourselves become, the trade-off for holding onto them is that we don't live into what could be another, much grander and more fulfilling story or stories.

"I'm too fat, not talented enough, don't have enough money, I'm not social enough, I don't have what a partner might be looking for," and it goes on and on and on.

We may not know how to pick up another book and tell a whole new story, but it may be high time that we retire the one we've been holding onto for years, if not our whole lives.

Personally, I'm done with my depressed, anxious, abused narrative. It's not easy, it's not flicking a light switch, it doesn't mean tossing my meds in the trash bin, but I think it'll be worth it.

Mark Andrew