On Thursday at our home group I shared my story. I have never shared the story of my life in such detail, honestly and openly talking about the events and developments which have shaped me, the good and the bad. I have given many testimonies in my life but these have often been an exercise in what to skim over, what to draw out and emphasise, what to omit. And with my story, that was really quite a lot.
Not to say that I hadn't told the truth in past testimonies, but on Thursday it was different. I spoke openly about things I hadn't shared systematically and honestly before. I wrote it all down and read all 6 sides of it to our small group.
I found it really hard. My story is not one you can share over light hearted drinks. Seeing it all written and reading it out, it was strange to think that this was my story, that all that illness and darkness had happened to me. I couldn't distance myself from it like I do so much in everyday life, living life as though I wasn't influenced by these things. I don't think of everything that ever happened to me- or at least I try not to. But when I was reading my story out at house group, I had to own it. This was my story. This is my life.
Thinking about it now, I understand more the power of stories. To Write Love on Her Arms, a mental health charity I love, has as one of its slogan - "Your story is important." And I get it more now. Whatever your story is, whether it's fairly straightforward or it's full of tragedy and abuse, your story is important. It is yours and it has value. Your life, no matter what your story, has worth.
We should own our stories. They make us what we are. Our stories are important.
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