So, I’m coming out of my shell a bit. And I’m a sensitive human being, so please be gentle with me.
I’m counting on this “going-public” thing to make me commit to mySelf once and for all. I hope to leverage the support of my forever friends to forge ahead. For years I’ve talked about writing, being a writer, my love of story-telling.
In the three or so decades I’ve worked and lived and loved, I’ve been cultivating a unique voice, and the efficient use of words, for others. Transcending fear, uncertainty and doubt with a wealth of marketing ideas — whether to build a brand story or produce a content strategy or coach a speaker.
But what is closest to my heart and soul — yet I’ve been too fear-full to open to — is the sharing of a story of transcendence in my own life. And I was all about that long before “story teller” was a job description on Linked In. No offense to all of you laying claim to that title these days. I love it. I appreciate it.
Years ago I read with fervor a brilliant book of stories from Omega co-founder Elizabeth Lesser, “Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow.”
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In the Introduction, Lesser writes:
“How strange that the nature of life is change, yet the nature of human beings is to resist change. And how ironic that the difficult times we fear might ruin us are the very ones that can break us open and help us blossom into who we were meant to be.”
I remember that reading this made me cry. I cried intermittently for days at the impact of these simple words; straight to heart they went, and stayed.
Lesser goes on to say, in her introduction, “I know that the arc of one triumphant human story traces the potential of each of our lives.”
So, I have this story — it’s not about suffering although it may sound that way, and it’s not about being a victim although it may sound that way. It’s about being triumphant.
It’s about how growing up with a mentally ill mother who ultimately killed herself (by hanging herself with my stepdad’s neckties in the garage, where he would find her) helped me breathe into my own big life. It’s about how losing her (long before she was dead) helped me find myself. It’s a testament to watching her grit her teeth and spit venom at whomever disappointed her or refused her or abused her but still being resolute that I will be brave and open my mouth and speak with clarity. It’s about how hiding — trying to hide — the ugly family life at home helped me emerge and unfold, and opened my heart to understanding human suffering and staying with it to make a difference in the lives of my lovers, and friends, and family.
I feel urgent to get going on the story. Why now? Mortality and death and all that, I guess. A recent battle with cancer, ongoing stress from the side affects of chemo, the loss of beloved friends to that dreaded disease, the ailments conversations of the 50-something crowd — I’m clearly closer to the end than the beginning. I’ve got to get going.
So now, I lay claim to my story and the arc of understanding it’s provided — maybe not just for me. But especially for me. And my mom.
We’ll see. #useyourwords #howlosingmymotherhelpedmefindmyself
