What If the Stories We Tell Ourselves are Completely Wrong?

The power of wrong stories to keep us isolated

Recently, I read a story by Dr.

Kelly Edmiston

. She was counseling a married couple who were soon to be empty nesters. They worried they would have nothing to do and nothing to talk about after their child left home. They had not had intercourse in years, but both wanted sexual intimacy to be part of their life going forward. As she inquired further, she learned that the husband did not want his wife to feel pressured. His wife didn’t want her husband to feel inadequate. As Edmiston put it, “Neither partner had asked the other what they needed. Neither partner had shared what they needed.’ Or wanted for that matter. This example is particularly stark because many of us desire thriving sexual intimacy in our relationships. But more so because both parties wanted the same end result. They just couldn’t communicate in a way to make it happen.

That said, they are far from alone, I have fallen into this trap many times before. One of my default ways to escape being angry is to come up with a “good” reason why the person did that thing that made me angry. This allows me to delegitimize my anger and just hop over that part to being “fine” again. Notice, I did not ask the person why they did that thing that made me angry. Nor did I tell them that it made me angry. I made up a reason why they did it.

I experimented with asking and telling these things. Turns out, that almost without exception, the reason I made up was completely wrong. One more barrier to clarity in this kind of communication is that many girls and women are implicitly taught that a good or real friend or partner would know that you were angry and make amends. How many times has someone you know (perhaps yourself) stewed, “They know what they did?” while the offending party is blissfully unaware that you are seething until you never speak to them again. I’ve been on both the giving and receiving end of that treatment. It’s not a great look. It’s also not that scary to ask, provided you can wait until the topic is not so reactive. If you’re too angry to listen to the answer in good faith, it’s not yet time to ask the question.

Interestingly, a similarly inaccurate story occurs when we consider how others view us. A friend felt hesitant to share an important diagnosis due to not wanting to be a bother. (I imagine, in combination with the general “bummer-ness” of the world these days.) This friend is someone who is so generous with her time, talent, and spirit, that there was no consideration of burden. The only question I had was how can I show up for real from several states away.

I say this not to drag my friend. I catch myself in this trap ALL THE TIME. In therapy recently, I said, “I really have a lot of fear of inconveniencing people.” My therapist, understandably, felt the need to call my attention to that given that our dependence on others is the rule not the exception in this life.

Before mass this week, Deacon Greg was explaining the role of deacons in our community in more detail. The most important thing he said was, “You are not a burden. You are our purpose.” What if our dependence is what helps someone to find or live out their purpose, calling, or as psychologist Bill Plotkin calls it, our, “unique ecological niche in this world”.

Storyteller Carrie Todd once shared a related story. I’ll try to do it abbreviated justice here:

Once upon a time, there was a small village. In this village, it was harvest time. A boy lived in the village and during the harvest, he was told he could do just about anything he liked except for play near the well. But of course, he was throwing his ball around, getting closer and closer to the well, until he fell in.

He felt awful. He had done the one thing he had been told not to do. And during harvest, when there was no time to spare.

The village spent three days digging him out of that well. When he emerged he carried deep shame about what happened, carried it for many years, becoming more and more isolated. D

But if he had asked, his mother was simply overjoyed to have him back safe and sound. Several men would have explained that they reconciled an old rift while digging. Two of the villagers would have told him that they fell in love while the village was digging and soon married.

The story doesn’t really mention that the villagers could have offered these things without being asked, particularly as he became more isolated. I know we don’t always notice such things, but when we do, what a powerful gift to share that story! Many of us know from experience that we must overcome a lot of inertia to ask. What if we didn’t have to ask? What if it were freely given? The impact of freely given help with a material or emotional need or the revision of that old story are both profound gifts to offer.

I recently finished a class about Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty). I mentioned before that the class upended my understanding of the story in a totally wonderful way. So far, the most useful gift of the class has been a strong desire to ask the question, “Does this story mean what I think it means?” I’ve been applying it to everything from the Bible to myself.

When I apply it to myself, the first challenge is to recognize that I am even telling myself a story. So many of these stories are simply accepted as undeniable fact in our minds. I have a pretty well-established story that there are unwritten or unspoken rules that everyone else just gets to know and then I look like a putz for not knowing them. With time and some fact checking from outside reliable sources, I have learned that is not a true story, but it is a story that I can use. Because my tolerance for awkwardness is higher than most, I can ask questions that make the unspoken rules spoken, which helps everyone know where they stand.

After I identify that I am telling myself a story, then I must wonder if the story means what I think it means. When I don’t know, I need to ask the party involved or a reliable source, whether that is asking why they did what they did, or if they have time and energy to help. Once I listen to the answer, I can re-evaluate the meaning of the story. Am I really a burden/inconvenience for having feelings or needs? It may feel easier or safer to make assumptions rather than having it stated plainly, but I think for our real “show-up” people, we’ll be pleasantly surprised that the idea that we are a burden is a story that we alone carry.

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One of the ways I’m hoping to challenge the stories others tell themselves is to write a note a day during Lent, to tell them about what I love about them or what gifts I see in them. (I share this here mostly as an accountability tool for myself). My other goal is to walk an undistracted mile each day. For me, walking more than sitting is the best way to listen.

I’d LOVE your input. I feel like one of the most useful things I can do to be of service right now is skill sharing. I’m hoping to find some local partners like the library or parks to host some health skill shares. Eventually, I may turn it into a YouTube channel or something. Anyway, I find that it is very difficult to unknow what I know to create something that is useful for the general public. I’d love to learn what you would find most useful to learn from an ER doctor/herbalist. Everything from first aid, to when to go to the ER, to how to talk to your doctor, to backyard foraging and herbalism, to salve making. What do you know already? What more would you like to learn?

I’m really proud of this essay that I shared with the Project for Advancing Healthcare Stewardship. If you didn’t get a chance to check it out a couple weeks ago, here’s another shot at it.

If you happen to be local to the Twin Cities area, consider making the trip over the Stillwater, MN to check out the reception for The Water Where We Live exhibit. The reception takes place March 6, from 4-7 pm.