I have been spending some time updating the My Story page on my website to reflect more accurately where I am in my life. It so interesting how our stories evolve and change so quickly.
So I guess it’s no surprise that I woke up this morning with all of these thoughts rolling around in my head around story. About how our stories, the ones we have lived and the ones we tell ourselves are formed not only from our experience in this lifetime, but by the lives our soul has journeyed before this life. We are really such complex beings.
It’s been interesting to witness the unearthing of my story over these last couple of years working with my mentor Jess with a journey called Story Medicine. My body story is just one of them. I have always felt the undercurrent of a belief that my body is broken. That it is less than. This story began in utero as the amniotic fluid I was being held in became infected. Before I was even earth side my immune system was fighting. Born with sepsis in my blood I recovered over the course of weeks, only to find out upon getting ready to leave the hospital that I had a congenital hip defect. This would result in a cast of both legs with a metal bar in the middle. I literally dragged myself around with my arms as my hip attempted to repair itself. Again, just like my sepsis, I bounced back. That is until I was 4 years old and discovered that I could not do one dance move that everyone else in my tap class could do. I could not move my leg that way. The result, a reconstructive surgery during which the surgeon took part of my pelvic bone and grafted it into my hip joint.
Weeks, maybe months (I don’t really remember) I lived in a cast that extended from right below my boobs all the way to my toes on my left side. This left me needing to learn to walk again and basically be re-potty trained at almost 5 years old. I would pee in my bed at night which resulted in waking up my sister (we shared a bed) and thus my mom at all hours of the night. I felt like a burden. In my 20’s I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease and in my 40’s along came chronic Lyme. So you can see, it feels like I have been at war with my body my whole life. I tell you this not for pity. I tell you this because it is my story. It informs how I show up in this world.
Yet, as a space holder, one who has sat and listened and held women as they speak into the world their own stories. Stories that are often filled with trauma and horrific circumstances. I have found myself thinking, should I be doing this work. I don’t have that kind of trauma. I have and always have had loving parents. I have never faced what I see as serious adversity. Who am I to hold space for these women? I even had a client/friend reflect my own internal story back to me as we were having a hard conversation. She said, “Really Angie, what have you ever really had to deal with”. Ouch. That hit hard. She said exactly what I have been saying to myself for years now. I am grateful for that exchange and that reflection. I needed to realize and own that I was holding that belief.
In truth, comparison robs us of joy. The whole idea of one person’s pain or story being bigger or more important is a disservice to self and others. We all have shit. We all have stories. We all have pain and sadness. If we never share our story because we or others don’t deem them worthy, we are robbing ourselves of the opportunity to heal and others of the chance to really see and hear us.
“Oh, Women! Let your stories be wild and free like the salmon. Let them sing their way Home! Do not hold them dammed up inside of your being as our ancestors have done. Your stories told and held sacred are the doorway you run through. Your dreams, visions and gifts are patiently waiting for you to arrive! - Jessica Zinchuk
I am crystal clear now about my unique gift and how to express it in this lifetime. I am a SPACE HOLDER. I have the honor of creating safe, sacred space for others to share their truth. For them to feel heard and held in a new way. I continue to do the work of owning my own story, of making friends with my body. Listening to her. Honoring her. She is the embodiment of the goddess here on this plane. I am creating a new story. One is which I embody my own truth.
My story continues to unfold. For that I am truly grateful. Aho.
How can you unearth and honor your own story? Are you open and willing to creating a new story?