Story Sessions Write In: My Voice

This post brought to you by a Story Sessions prompt. "When (and how) did you find your voice? And if you haven't yet, what do you think it's going to take to find it?"

My voice is playful. Caught up in this never-ending game of hide and seek. The first time I found her, I was 13, bored out of my mind in school, She showed up in elaborate stories where the heroine was always rich with an older brother to protect her, a boyfriend who loved her and her parents were no where to be found.

I started high school the next year and my voice went back into hiding, intimidated by the creativity of my peers and overwhelmed by life. I'd catch glimpses of her as she moved from one hiding place to the next. But I never could quite catch her.

This past Spring I took Story 101. Instead of chasing my voice, I sat down and created a space for her. I listened to her, saw her need to run, to be a little wild. She didn't want to be caught and forced to write on straight lines, words lined up like little soldiers. She loves the freedom of ink spilling across a page and the smell of a new journal. She wants to write in half thoughts and run on sentences that we come back to later to clean up, or not as the case often seems to be. She creates in shapes and spirals that circle around the blank page.

I'm still finding layers of my voice. My voice is more than just playful. Her whispers are powerful. They shake tears from my eyes. They scatter truth as they fall.

Finding my voice is tied into finding me. The me still trapped under the layers of rubble.

I found part of my voice the very first time I introduced myself in a 12 step meeting. I found it sitting in a circle every week, whispering truths through tears.

I found my voice every time I put pen to paper, jotting down the phrases and sentences that ran in my head and captured me.

I found my voice at the top of a hill, screaming at a God I could no longer understand.

I found my voice in darkness, when mental illness swallowed me whole, chewed me down and spat out what was left.

My voice found me as I learned to say yes to things like leadership and E-courses. She found me as I wrote and spoke through my fears and inadequacies. She found me through thousands of journalled pages and therapy work books.

It turns out in that game of hide and seek, I was the one hiding and she was the one seeking me.

Story Sessions Write In: Simpler Times

Written at a Story Sessions Write In this morning. Our prompt, courtesy of Jamie Bagley, one of the amazing Story Coaches was to write a letter to yourself remembering simpler times. 

Dear me right now,

Yes you, the one who just cringed at this prompt because you've never known a simpler time. It's okay. There is room for your messiness, the overwhelmed chaos that seems to have always churned in your heart. I see your tears, those longings spilling down your face as once more grief hits you - these is no simpler time for you.

There were no carefree days of childhood or wild self discovery in college. The story, your story up until now is one that have been anything by simple. That reality, it doesn't have to define you. It doesn't have to shape how you respond.

You have moments when your heart rests, your spirit soars. Moments between the fights of chasing the sunsets with the man you love and who loves you. Arms spread wide to catch every last ribbon of colour.

You have moments - perched up at that tall corner table, coffee in hand as you hold the words and hearts of others. Moments of being fully present and alive knowing that this is part of the beauty rising out of your ashes.

Your simpler times - you create them for yourself. Stealing away yet again to sit on the rocks by the river, capturing peace with words and lens and paint. Storing it up, treasuring how it teaches you, reminds you that even if you haven't lived it yet, there is more to your story.

Your simpler times are coming dear one. There will be springs in this desert for your dry bones. There is a door of Hope that leads you out of this valley of death. Your day is coming. It won't always be this nightmare journey of loss stacked on top of loss til your heart crumbles under the weight.

Hold on precious one. Your moments of simpler times and quieter heart, they too are stacking up. Building a framework that supports your mending heart. A scaffold that currently only allows glimpses of the beauty and simplicity being created.

There's a difference you know between external simplicity and peace. Yes simplicity can be a doorway to peace, but it's not THE one door. Trust your intuition. She is leading you where you need to go. It isn't simplicity, yet there is a rhythm all your own that balances the internal and external chaos. It works for you - don't belittle your rhythm because it isn't anyone else's. Learn your dance. Allow the music to sweep you into and guide you through this whirlwind of a dance. It looks different, but your stomping feet are doing what they were created for.

I know you can't look back with fondness and looking forward only brings fear. Watching your feet makes you stumble. So throw your head back, raise your face to the burning hot sky and dance.

It is enough. You are enough. And this, this is your time.

Love,
your 30 minutes into the future self.