Some people are born storytellers. But I think of myself as a story-catcher. Someone with a calling to listen to the stories others tell. I listen. I wait, with ears and heart open, for that brief, unguarded moment when someone risks opening the door of their heart even the smallest fraction. I listen so I can catch what’s heavy when it floats through the opening. I’m not always skillful as I would like, but I try. I try because I know that when people can share the ache, they will carry it a little lighter.
No two stories are the same. Of course not. Each holds a subtle nuance or texture, a unique personal spice, shall we say. And although the shape of each person’s difficulty or disturbance differs, they all have one thing in common: an inner wound. The exquisite ache of loss. Or grief. Or longing. Something out of order that seeks balance, harmony and restoration.
My heart could feel heavy with all the stories I’ve caught. And sometimes it does, because most stories hit deep. Many stay with me long after they’ve been shared. But I also absorb each story as inspiration. Because where there is pain, there is also courage. And where there is courage, determination can be surfaced. And through the grit of determination, choice emerges. Choice then leads to action. And action to hope.
So you see, within each story of pain and heartbreak is a heroic tale of triumph waiting to take form. And behind every story is an individual confronting the depth of their personal struggles instead of succumbing to collapse.
Those who possess the courage to share their stories are not just seeking comfort. They don’t want to wallow in the mud of their pain. What they want is to remember a part of themselves they’ve forgotten. My job is to hold a space in which they can re-orient toward an inner strength they already possess. A space that can transform difficulty and discomfort into a more meaningful experience where the person can emerge stronger.
When people tell me their stories, they aren’t looking for pity (and I don’t offer it). Instead, I respect the courage it takes to confront pain head on. It takes a substantial amount maturity to accept that disappointment, sorrow, and despair are an uncomfortable truth of human existence. It takes grit to say, “I may be standing in manure, but I can plant flowers here.” And it is precisely this courage that fills my heart with inspiration even as I write these words.
Personal growth is an epic tale of heroism and endurance. It embodies the strength of the human spirit. Inside every story I hear is a little grit waiting to emerge. It waits, like a tiny seed, for the right moment to sprout. As I wrote in my children’s book called Emerge, “It takes a lot of courage to break through uncertainty.”
Ultimately I believe that everyone, if given the right opportunity, wants to blossom.
So I write this post for you, the storytellers…the ones who share your stories with me in session. The ones who share them spontaneously in supermarket queues or in passing. I want you to know, I hear you. I hold your stories with respect knowing they deserve to be honoured. And more than anything, I want you know you are deeply seen. You are heard. You don’t walk alone.
Often, there is nothing I can do, except offer you my presence. As much as I want to fix, to solve, to offer solutions, I know my presence is what you need most. I also know sometimes, my inner “problem solver” fights for the front seat. I’m working on that.
I write this post from my heart to yours…you who show up fearlessly for the healing and you who live in the hollows where healing hasn’t yet reached. I write this for all of you…
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you who courageously bear the unbearable with grace and dignity, knowing that pain and joy are a paradox we can learn to hold, not a problem to be solved.
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you who feel foreign in the families you came from yet still courageously reach for connection despite the pain of isolation of not feeling seen.
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you who have the courage to enter and sit in the unknown whilst waiting for life to speak again.
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you who courageously wade into the fire of impossible relationships, knowing you won’t come out unscathed but also knowing, in the words of Reiner Marie Rilke, you’ll find a way to let “what batters you becomes your strength.”
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you whose children have made you strangers despite your own desperate, courageous attempts to be the cycle-breakers tackling dysfunctions of generations past.
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you who dare to believe everyone is truly doing the best they can even if it doesn’t feel that way.
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you who courageously refuse to cut yourselves off from your truer selves and from life by numbing out or self-loathing.
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you who set boundaries and hold them, knowing they may not be honoured. Still, you courageously honour yourselves and are willing to bear the cost of rejection knowing you have not abandoned or betrayed yourself.
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you who are courageously learning to love yourselves in the ways you never received from the ones who were supposed to know how.
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you who are courageously healing yourselves while trying to love, as best you can, the very people who hurt you.
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you who courageously show up and build the emotional muscle to help you go the distance knowing relationships and connection are the essential to human flourishing
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and, yes you… you who dare to fall apart (the messy ones like me) and courageously rise through despair and fear to seek help.
I write this for you because I’m grateful to have the privilege of experiencing the magic that happens in the transformative space between the telling and the catching of stories. It is a space where courage thrives. It is a space where stories can create a kind of connection that forms a doorway to sense-making, which then builds a bridge back to the self.
When we re-connect with the self, we are reminded that we all belong and must learn ways to co-exist. We belong to the good and bad. The suffering and the joy. The highs and the lows. We belong to ourselves, to each other, to the planet we share, and yes, to this entire human race.
When you’re ready to share your story, I’m here to catch it. Connect with me via my website: https://coreinsightsinstitute.com or diane@coreinsightsinstitute.com. If this post has touched you, please feel free to share it with others.