Inspiration Stories
How Storytelling Sets us Free
Photo by Wonderlane on Unsplash
The symptoms are recognisable: flushed cheeks, knotted stomach, tunnel vision, and a throat closed so tight that it can scarcely squeeze out a word. And maybe, underneath all those symptoms, we might feel another: a heart filled to bursting with the desire to let out not just one word, but a whole outpouring of words. Yet here we stand, blocking that deluge like a dam.
Is it worth letting that dam burst, and letting those words fall out? Pop chart-toppers like Sara Bareilles’ Brave have encouraged so for years, but what if those nudges aren’t enough? What if we believe that the risks in taking that plunge are too great?
In my work, I support marginalized individuals in using their stories to grow their roots deeper into the Swiss soil they have been transplanted into. As such, we come up against a great number of fears: of looking dumb, of exposing less than complete mastery of the new language they have learned, of not finding the words to express what they have experienced, or even more challenging, the fear of failing to express WHY they indeed belong.
These were some of the fears that Soraya (name changed for privacy) carried. After ten classes which focused on every aspect of confidence building, confidence hadn’t found her. In a one-on-one coaching session, she felt safe enough to confide in me about escaping from Afghanistan, following smugglers through the wilderness and nearly falling off of a cliff to pursue a safe haven with her family, and daring further to build up her career. She had survived all of this. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell other people about it.
I understood, because I have lived with those fears myself. Although I could not imagine the difficulties of fleeing a war-torn nation, I did know what it felt like to flee an unsafe situation. We both knew the fear of our words being used against us, and tightrope walked a similarly tenuous balance between fear and excitement in rebuilding our lives on our own terms. As such, I knew she both needed and deserved patience.
Despite our program’s public storytelling event being a few short weeks away, I reminded her that she did not owe anyone her story, and that we could find a way that felt right for her to share what she felt safe sharing. We tried making a recording of her story which she could dance to onstage, and for a while, this seemed like the right solution. Until one day, when she called me with a realization.
Amongst our participants, she was the only woman. If she were to be the only person choosing to not actually speak, then the audience might internalize the idea that refugee women cannot speak for themselves. She refused to allow that. In one brave moment on that phone call, she determined herself to tell her story, and I promised her that I would be right there in the audience with nothing but love.
Photo by Gemma Chua-Tran on Unsplash
After a whirlwind few days of preparation, she did it. She dressed up, and stood in front of that microphone with such grace and compassion for herself. She told her story. She affirmed her dream, leaving the audience in tears.
And today, she’s living that dream. She works in a care facility for the elderly, using her hard-earned skills to tend to their medical needs while using her hard-won story to further burgeon her own strength in the face of workplace discrimination.
Soraya once described to me a situation where certain patients were uncomfortable being cared for by a non-Swiss person. They would express unkind remarks, and question her competency. These were not easy moments, but she remembered how other past experiences also challenged her capacity to succeed. She remembered how those moments taught her that, in spite of the difficulty, she was capable. That remembering helped her respond to current situations with that exact same strength, choosing to let her actions speak for themselves, showing both her skill and her patience. She showed those who questioned her that she was a safe and caring person. And in so doing, she demonstrated beautifully how belonging has nothing to do with skin colour or nationality. Her confidence now in full bloom, she consented to share her stories of discrimination on film for the entire city, thus allowing her story to generate an impact more broad and bold than ever before.
Photo by Maria Oswalt on Unsplash
When we take on the brave work of storytelling, we choose to observe what has made us. We regard it with compassion, with empathy for ourselves and all that we have already faced, placing it on the table of creativity with both objectivity and curiosity, kneading our story like bread with the trust that the leaven of our innate human strength will help it to rise in the heat of consistent courage. And then, when we are ready, we get to break it open for those around us to experience for themselves – smelling it, feeling its texture, tasting its delicious uniqueness.
In sharing our stories with courage and love of self, we aren’t just giving something away, leaving the storehouses of our own hearts empty. Like the best moments of breaking bread, the sharing of our story becomes something which nourishes everyone. In giving it to others, we also give it to ourselves. We remember not only who we are, but also how deeply enough we are. And who knows what grains of our own experiences can, in being shared with someone else, awaken the capacity for someone else’s rising to begin.
About the author:
Cathlene Bell has fifteen years of experience in the publishing industry, with expertise in intercultural and inter-religious content. She holds degrees in Communications and Global Peace & Justice Studies from Felician University in the US. She is a survivor of high-control groups and of domestic violence, and relishes using creativity to support both herself and others in transitioning from mere surviving to genuine thriving. She lives in Epalinges with her two sons. She is also the host of the podcast Create Imperfect Anyway.
