Same, same — but different
Tell Your Story Out Loud
This past Wednesday, I told a real story, out loud, with my actual voice, at VOXRVA — a storytelling event here in Richmond in the spirit of The Moth. I also was asked to emcee the event by the creators because the topic was Transitions, a topic I know well.
I also spent time this week listening to the inaugural episode of the new podcast In the Room, On Purpose, launched by the incredible Alyssa Edwards. She interviewed me a few months ago, and I was impressed with her whip-smart questions on the oft oversimplified topic of authenticity.
What I keep turning over in my mind, after both of these experiences, is that there is something that happens when we tell the truth out loud, in front of other people, that cannot happen any other way.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how we KNOW who we are, which is an essential part to LIKING ourselves and also TRUSTING that we have our own backs as we go about this business of living.
Most of us carry stories about ourselves: a script running in the background that explains our choices, struggles, reactions, and the lens in which we interpret information and experiences.
Some of our stories are inherited and unwittingly conditioned; some we constructed and made complicated on our own.
Some are true, others false.
And some stories that we deem as true are actually expired… we’ve just failed to take note.
Since we live inside of our stories, they are nearly invisible unless we have a direct practice of examining them regularly.
Storytelling requires us to find the beginning, middle, and end of what we want to say, and it forces us out of the inside of our own lives and puts us into a position to witness.
We have to observe ourselves, take note, and figure out what the story is about and what it means.
And meaning is not something we arrive at alone; it’s something we make in relationship…which is why sharing stories out loud is so powerful.
As each person told their story on Wednesday evening, others in the room recognized themselves in the stories that were being told.
The people in the room nodded in agreement —
They know the sting of the ego in a moment of vulnerability;
They remember the one catastrophe that snapped them into a new reality;
They relate and reflect upon how that one simple move changed the trajectory of their lives;
And yes…
I also lost my mom suddenly and it shattered my heart in a million ways I never expected.
We’ve all been somewhere like these moments, and we continue to change daily.
We are not the same person we were five years ago. Not even two years ago. Hell — not two months ago.
We’re constantly living into the next version of ourselves, but don’t often give ceremony to it.
We don’t often witness our transitions and transformations and rarely stop to say, “Who am I now?”
We just keep moving, heads down, checking off the next thing without integrating (also read: mourning, celebrating, understanding, giving compassion to) the last one, and wonder why we can’t just deal with everything, all at once, all the time.
This is how we become a stranger to ourselves.
Storytelling is one way to interrupt that.
When we share stories in deep conversation independent of platitudes, judgments, and resolutions, we realize that, hey, we’re not the ONLY ONE going through this.
Even though we all have particular, specific, unrepeatable experiences, they are always — somehow — relatable to someone else’s story.
Funny thing, being human. We’re more same same than different.
Storytelling is our way to return to ourselves and bear witness to who we are and how we’ve evolved.
We tell stories to find out who we’ve become. And we’re always in the middle of becoming.
As you enter your next chapter, here are some questions that may help you think about who you’re becoming:
What story are you carrying that you haven't told yet — even to yourself?
Who were you a year ago, and what does the distance between then and now tell you?
Where could you put yourself in a room with other people this week and just listen?
What stories no longer belong to you? Wish them well and notice their passing.
The longest relationship we have in this life is the one with ourselves, and it informs every other relationship.
Notice where you are now. Notice your story. Make sure you’re telling the one that is most authentic to you.
xox,
Michelle
P.S. If you want a space to figure out what story you're in right now — and what you want to do with it — I'd love to be a thought partner. Let’s chat.
This was such a fun interview. Alyssa is smart af, and her questions prove it.
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