A Preface: My Untold Story
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.”
-Maya Angelou
There is a deep truth to this quote— that when the story within you goes untold, you suffer in ways you can’t even see (but you can certainly feel).
Sometimes, our stories are told by those around us and we end up adapting to those narratives as they can seem accurate enough. It’s interesting too, when you feel like your story has been told by those around you, sometimes even for you— on your behalf when you’re too weak— instead of by you. Often, those who love us, or even just “know” us to some extent or another, write their own narratives about us based on their own observations and understandings of us, either up close or from afar. This happens especially in seasons of darkness and struggle, but even at times in seasons of abundance and thanksgiving.
I’ve experienced this— having my story be told for me— for some time now, long enough (let’s just call it a decade give or take a year or so). This isn’t by anyone’s fault but my own, although I give myself some grace here because, frankly, I just wasn’t ready yet.
Like I said before, I need to gain your trust so you first need to know who and why I am who I am. Because this story, like every good one, is full of twisting plot lines and lots of intersecting mini narratives, I am going to have to do this in pieces. It’s far too much to explain, much less experience and relive, in one sitting.
As I mentioned prior, I had an ongoing battle with my mind for the majority of my twenties. Of course, there’s a lot of context in my upbringing that is necessary to illustrate how pivotal that battle really was. I’ll go way back eventually, but, first I need to tell you about the season that broke me all the way through— my mind, body, heart & spirit.
I promise to not leave you all in the shallow waters— it’s going to get messy, and scary both to write and to read. Knowing that though, I still feel compelled to dive into that courageous space of honesty and vulnerability from the beginning. I also promise not every post will be a heavy conversation, but I do feel like being candid is possibly the best place I could start.
While I give serious credit and appreciation to my family and friends who’ve tried to tell my story for me, I’m tired of the retelling of it by others. Some retellings are fairly accurate and depict me as the main character quite well with loads of description. But, I’m tired not because it’s being told “wrong” per say, but it’s not mine.
So, I’m going to write it out myself. I think it’ll be cathartic for me to write, but it’ll also sting a lot. Even thinking about pieces of it brings water wells to my eyes. That to say, I believe if you care to read this, you deserve the first-person experience, not a retelling by even an eye-witness. I may solicit a second-hand experience here and there, but really I want you to hear it first from me, the co-writer of this story.
I say co-writer because I do not believe we are the sole authors of our stories. I believe that the novels that are our lives are, in fact, breathed by our Maker— God. Now, whatever you believe, whether it be in karma or the universe or some other something higher… it is widely acknowledged that we humans might not be “the highest” or holiest entity out there. My story is evidence of that— that we couldn’t write our stories into existence the way a much more creative and imaginative God could.
I thank you in advance for your patience with me as I attempt to relay the untold story within me. I do sincerely appreciate you being here.