Owning Our Stories
Disappointment. Expectations. Hurting the ones we love, even if we never meant or intended to. I have been thinking about this long and hard lately as I now know that my words in my last post have hurt the ones I love, my parents. It hurts my heart knowing that, and it was with great trepidation that I wrote them to begin with. But, with all that said, I do not regret writing them. I have been second guessing myself since then, since I learned that I hurt my parents. My knee jerk reaction was to take the post down, to which I still felt no relief, but only a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. On the plane ride home earlier this week I had a lot of time to think, and to read. I needed time to process how I really felt about it, and then, to determine what I needed to do from there. There are so many things I want to say as a follow up to my last post, because I felt that my truth was so shocking that it overshadowed everything else that my post was supposed to be about (which was not actually my parents), and it also only gave a very small window into my childhood, which is, of course, not the entire picture. So I want to speak to this here and now, not because I have to, but because it is my truth, and I want for this space here to be just that—the truth.
There is power in our stories, but not if we filter, not if we paraphrase, not if we whitewash them first.
I have decided to keep the post, and not because it is the easy thing to do, and not because I want to hurt people, but because it is my truth—it is my story—and because I cannot filter it, even if that means it will sometimes hurt to read it. I found the answer I was looking for right in front of me. There is a quote I heard a few months back that I loved so much I made it my bio on my Instagram page:
“Do not think you can be brave with your life and your work and never disappoint anyone. It doesn’t work that way.”
When I read that yesterday, I knew...I knew that I had to live with the words I had written. I wrote them, I meant them, and I published them to tell my story; even as painful as that was, I needed to do just that. To quote another great woman, Brené Brown, “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.” I am here, and I am ready to own this story. And not just the good parts, but the whole thing. And I can’t pull out the pages; again, it doesn’t work that way. There is power in our stories, but not if we filter, not if we paraphrase, not if we whitewash them first.
I was reminded today of feeling like a small child; to feel like you had no power, no control, but beholden to someone else and what they were going to decide was going to happen. I will not give up my power or my words that easily. I know, in my bones, that I need to do this: I need to write, and I cannot filter...not for a significant other, not for work, not for anyone. I knew going into this that I was going to hurt some people along the way, but I still wasn’t completely prepared for how that would feel or for how I was going to respond to that. I will say this: It is not easy for me and it will never will be. But, with that said, I have to do this. I want to write. More than anything else in this world, I know this: I was meant to write. How can I write anything more if I know I’m writing with one hand held behind my back? That’s how it would feel for me. I would feel dishonest and like I’m only writing half of the story that is my life. So I am reposting my last post, but I wanted to take the opportunity to speak to what happened, and how I feel now that I have written and posted it.
The moment I published my last blog post, I felt like there was so much I should have said that I didn’t. I didn’t feel right the way I left it, and I think it’s partially what has been eating at me since. So here’s what I didn’t get a chance to say in my last post: I may have hated my parents growing up (and I think, if we’re being honest, this rings true for most people), but I absolutely do not feel this way now. (I feel like this is implied, for those that know me, but I realize now that this wasn’t obvious.) I love my parents. I am who I am today because of my parents and all that they did for me and my brothers and sister growing up. I am strong, and I am stubborn, and independent, and so many other great characteristics that make me who I am, because I am their daughter. They sacrificed to ensure that we had a safe home to grow up in, for me to have an Adventist education (which I will forever be grateful for), and the amazing community of people I had the privilege to grow up with. I know I was lucky; I never experienced what it meant to be sexually taken advantage of or raped because of my parents and their protectiveness. I hated being known as “sheltered” when I was in junior high—feeling stupid for not knowing more about the world, but I now know I was lucky to be so sheltered, to not know. My parents made a life for me that was protected from so many negative things and experiences, and I appreciate that now. I’m not saying all this to negate what I said in my last post, but because I love my parents and I want to be fair with what I say surrounding them. No family is perfect, and I don’t think writing this is going to “make everything all better,” but I do hope that it opens up a space where real honest communication can happen. I want more than anything to live my life authentically and honestly, and I’m trying to be honest with myself now.
I suppose I drew courage writing this from the book I am reading right now, “Girls Burn Brighter,” written by Shobha Rao. It is a beautiful and sad story about two young girls in India who are separated but who fight to find each other again. Reading their stories I found myself sad but also inspired; against all odds these young women continued to fight. Fight against a system seemingly set against them, against all hardship, strife, and soul crushing circumstance, they continued on—never letting their light distinguish in their pursuit. I found myself wishing I had such clarity in my life—that burning ember deep within, burning for something...something worth fighting for. I now look within and find I have had a fire here all along; it is this voice within me, the one that refuses to be quiet, the one that finally has become these words...and I refuse to tape this mouth shut, to quiet her. I know I will hurt some people, disappoint, maybe even anger some, but...I know that, despite all of that, I must find a way to share this story, with full honesty, vulnerability, and authenticity, because that is what I set out to do.
So here I am, sharing this story, my story, with you. I hope that, despite the risk, that my story inspires, that it gives someone courage, hope, maybe even just the feeling that they aren’t alone in how they might be feeling. We all have complicated stories, complicated families, and hurts we carry with us from both. I am wading into these muddy waters, myself, because I’m finally ready to. I am scared shitless, but I am also proud. Life is too short to not be honest, to not say how you feel, to say what you mean, to not live authentically. I stand naked in my vulnerability, but strong in my resolve...to say these words, to have this voice, to risk so very much, for something I believe in. Here’s to taking some of the hardest steps yet into this new year. I feel I have everything to lose, but also everything to gain. Here’s to that...and for finding the courage to find my voice again.
Love,
Sabrina Michele