The Story I’m Making Up
I’m a big fan of Brené Brown — her work around vulnerability, empathy and shame has greatly impacted my life and the work I do with others. There’s one phrase she uses that changes the way I show up in the world:
The story I’m making up is…
Let me give you an example of how this phrase plays itself out in real time.
Recently we had a sleepover with our four nieces. They are ages 7, 5 ½ (twins) and 4. So, needless to say, they have a lot of energy and keep us on our toes! Our basement sectional has just enough space for each of them to have a place to sleep, which left me on an air mattress. I tossed and turned most of the night due to being uncomfortable, being cold and waking up to various children talking in their sleep. I woke up tired and not ready to start the day.
They, however, slept just fine! Right away the youngest one started telling me she was hungry. So, I turned on the TV and went upstairs to start making breakfast. I gave my shadow a banana to help tide her over until the pancakes were done.
I felt myself getting irritated with her.
Why is she following me? Why won’t she go watch TV with her sisters? Thankfully she didn’t sense my irritation. Instead she wanted to help, so I handed her plates and cups and let her set the table. Eventually the food was ready and I called everyone to the table.
We survived the night!
Soon syrup was everywhere. Sticky hands, sticky forks, sticky table, sticky chairs. As they finished eating, I told them to go wash their hands — of course, they touched everything on their way to the bathroom! Before they were hardly out of their seats, I was wiping down all the surfaces trying to get my house back in order.
I felt exhausted. I felt defeated. And in the midst of all of this I heard a phrase formulating in my mind:
“See, you would have been a bad mom. You can hardly function after one lousy night of sleep. You can’t stand a messy table. It’s a good thing you can’t have kids after all.”
I believed every word of it too.
Later, as I was washing the dishes, my mom and brother (the father of the girls) were with me in the kitchen. I confessed to them how the overnight convinced me that I wouldn’t have been a good mom.
The story I made up is that there’s a reason I can’t have children. I took an out of the ordinary situation (i.e., going from zero children to four) and drew conclusions to explain an un-explainable circumstance.
The story I made up is that my frustration meant I was going to be a bad mom. I didn’t give myself any grace;
Instead I berated myself for even thinking motherhood would have been a good fit for me.
The story I made up is that because I wasn’t feeling joyful the entire time they were at our house then I must not have really wanted to be a mom in the first place. I didn’t allow for any realistic emotions, but expected myself to be positive the entire time.
I was making up stories in my head to explain away my infertility. But those stories weren’t true — far from it.
My mom and brother quickly reassured me that this overnight did not reflect my ability to be a good mom. So, I started telling them a new story — one that is based on truth:
The truth is if I were a mom, the girls would have had their own rooms and I would have slept in my own bed.
The truth is if I were a mom, I wouldn’t have been thrown in head first with four children.
The truth is if I were a mom, I would have been tired and frustrated and annoyed because that’s part of parenthood.
The truth is I am an aunt and I offered to have them sleep over because I love them.
The truth is I am an aunt and they had fun and didn’t even notice my frustrations.
The truth is I am an aunt and they will remember moments like these for the rest of their lives.
The truth is no story I make up can explain why my body doesn’t function the way I wish it would. Making up stories causes more pain, not less.
Making up stories hides the truth rather than revealing it.
Every day I have to make a choice to live a good, full life in the midst of my infertility. This doesn’t mean fake positivity or glossing over the realities. Instead it means staying present to my emotions — letting myself feel, then letting the feeling pass. It means being open to the goodness around me — discovering the joy in the little things. It means celebrating the life I’m living — being grateful for who and what I am.
I can make up stories for any and every situation. Most often, the stories aren’t true. I’m so grateful for this simple phrase and the way it re-frames my thinking.
The next time you find yourself defeated by your own mind, ask yourself: what story am I making up?
Did you enjoy this read?
Please leave a comment below and share the link!
(She/Her)
The gal behind Held In The Heart. The Community Journal is a space for those who feel deeply to express freely. We explore all sorts of things here, from the real & raw healing stories & creative writing, to the funny & fleeting moments of everyday human life. I warmly welcome you and invite you to explore with us!