Читать книгу Daring to Fight - Victoria Mininger - Страница 13

Owning our own stories can be hard. Often, when we find ourselves in a place of pain, we look around for someone to blame. We search for the simple answer for why we are where we are. Sometimes we refuse to take any steps forward because we are waiting for someone else to fix it. To fix the pain. To fix the circumstances. To apologize. To say they are truly sorry. To be repentant for what they have done to us. Or we hold on to our right to be angry because it at least allows us to feel something, right? Or maybe, we just sit there not knowing where to start but knowing we need to start somewhere.

Yet, as we linger and spin in that space, we never actually make any forward progress. At some point, we have to be willing to lean in to the discomfort of addressing our depression, of addressing the pain, of holding conversation with others, to take those beginning steps. Beginning steps that only you can take. And just like the phone call I made that day to my husband, I vividly remember my beginning steps in much the same way.

The day started like so many of the days before. Early morning sun spilled and played across the hardwood floors of our home. I passively watched as my dog yelped and chased the glimmers of light across the floor, she being utterly convinced that she would catch one today. The girls had been at school for at least an hour, so the house would be empty of their giggles and girlish chatter for the next couple of hours. My husband shuffled between the kitchen and our office, tending to who knows what, as I had lost track of what needed to be done. I can still feel that loose spring in the couch cushion, and how I shifted every day just enough to not feel it pressing into my hip.

As I was lying there, I remembered starting my daily conversation with God. By this point, I had my routine and our conversation down pat. A daily conversation that usually started with:

“Why?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Where is everybody?”

“Why has no one come?”

“God, I don’t want to stay here. Help me!”

‘Round and ’round I went in my head, uttering the same things. Desperation laced my inner thoughts while sighs punctuated the space around me. They were the same old questions that just never seemed to have any answers. Yet, I desperately wanted to hear. I desperately wanted help. I desperately wanted to get better.

But something was different that day. I really can’t tell you what. Maybe it was that I refused to stop pounding on the door of heaven, or maybe after all the questions something was finally crystallizing in my mind. Looking back, I now know and believe that God Himself was breaking through the fog of my thoughts and confusion. As I paused between my questions, I had this seeming moment of clarity. Clarity that made me suddenly realize that no other human being was coming to my rescue. That the saving was not going to come from the people around me but from the God who had created me. If I was going to get off the couch and get better, I was going to have to take the first steps. I needed to figure this one out and do whatever it took to move forward.

Don’t misunderstand me here. It’s not that the people in my life didn’t want to help me. They just did not know how. They didn’t know where to start and felt just as lost as I did when it came to knowing what to do for me. It was in that moment of realizing that no one was coming to my rescue that I knew it was time to get real and honest with my own story and own up to it—to own the parts of my story that were mine to own. The places where I had failed and took on too much. I had to own that while other people had hurt me, if I waited for them to make things right, I might be waiting a long time. It was up to me to own my story, all the good, the bad, and the ugly of it. It was time for me to take my power back. It was time to stand up and dare to fight.

Did owning my story excuse the people in my life who had wounded me, intentionally or unintentionally? Absolutely not. However, owning my story was what would allow me to finally start taking the steps I needed to get better.

That morning, as this new realization hit me, I sat up, literally. I was going to go for a walk! It was time to take some literal steps. The time had come for me to get up, get off the couch, and dare to fight this depression that had taken over my life, no matter how slow that might be.

I remember slipping on my shoes and calling out to my husband. “Brian, I’m going for a walk around the field.”

He popped his head around the corner, with a slightly surprised look on his face. However, like a wise husband, he only said, “Okay, great. Want me to come along?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to get some fresh air.”

And that was my first step in owning my story—owning my story and declaring that enough was enough. I was on a mission to get well. To get back to living life. I was daring to fight!

“When we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.”

– BRENÉ BROWN

Your Turn

1 1.Where does your story begin? Do you struggle to know that it matters? If so, why?

2 2.What parts of your story do you need to own?

3 3.Are you ready to take those first steps, to ask yourself the hard questions? If not, what do you think is holding you back?

4 4.What is one step you can take this week to own your story?