Tell our tales - differently

By Virginia Winder

We are the stories we tell.

That means we have the power to change them.

If your story is getting you down and when you repeat it you feel yuck, stop sharing it or tell a different story.

I did that about the year from April 2013 to April 2014.

It was the worst 12 months, a time filled with anguish and anger, depression and despair, misery and meanness.

When I used to talk about that time, I immersed myself in the woe-is-me story and the gloom would descend again. Even writing these last two sentences has my gut churning.

Then it came to me – I could tell a different story.

So I did. First, I sat down by the sea with a mentor and we talked about what I’d tell people about leaving a job that had seemed like a dream position.

We decided to say that the job just wasn’t for me, that I preferred writing and I wanted a different future. He was a wise man, a good man and he helped me immensely.

In the past few months, I have wiped that time off my CV, Linked In and all social media. I purged it from my past and it made me feel light and free. I realised I had made a mistake in veering off the path of journalism and writing – it literally nearly killed me (more gut churning).

Now I mostly talk about the life I have now, although I have shared aspects of the past with pain and passion – I have done so many wonderful things that make me smile – and of course there are my darling parents.

Along with living in the now (bit of a mindful mantra that), I still dream. The other day, creativity guru Wayne Morris asked a friend thinking of a career change: “What do you want your life to look like?”

That got me pondering.

It’s pretty much what I want, but there could be more creative writing in there (on the faltering novel), more blogging (hence this post), more overseas travel and an uplifting exercise regime. Maybe I could see my sister more and talk to my brother more, because they are my beloved whanau.

All the rest is pretty damn fine. I’ve got great relationships with my amazing-cook teacher husband and our crazy creative grown-up kids. I’m doing lots of art with my friends Cheryl and Jayeta, and on the journalism front, I’m writing about meaningful things – charities, gardens, food, art, the community and mental health.

There are times though, when stories have to be told because they are so close to the heart. They need to get out or you’d burst.

When Mum and Dad died in a car crash in 1999, I wrote about them, at the behest of multi-author David Hill, although I did so publicly. He wrote me a beautiful letter at the time, but I think he meant me to write just for myself. I do tend to be an out-there kind of gal.

I’ve tapped out stories about having bipolar, although I feel like I’ve been in remission since mid-2014. It’s just not a big part of my life, but every hint of feeling down gives me a fright. And when I’ve had six days with crap sleep, like now, I worry about going up. Still steady though.

I’ve also shared a blog post about trying to take my life (more acid in the gut).

Writing about painful events and getting them out can be useful and can help others. But there is a time when that story wears out. You’ll know, because you will have told it again and again, and in doing so you’ll feel crap about life or yourself.

So stop.

Do as Wayne suggests, sit down and write about what you want your life to look like.

Or reword how you tell it. A friend of mine, Shirley Vickery, told me tonight that when she used to tell people she was a secretary, they would switch off.

So she changed her job description. When people asked about her job, she would reply: “I’m the personal assistant for a community activist.”

People would say: “Wow that’s amazing.”

It’s all in the wording and what we tell ourselves.

We write our own stories.