Narrative of Strength

Yesterday, I was out walking, struggling with so many things. Why is it that when we struggle, we often rehearse our weaknesses?

A small voice inside whispered: Instead of another narrative of weakness, can we craft one of strength? Ha. I feel nothing like that right now. “Rehearse the strength you’ve seen in your life,” it whispered.

***It can take a minute to shift a story. ***

I remembered back to when I moved here. Just me and my Pontiac Sunbird with everything I owned. I had gotten accepted into the doctoral program at the University of Washington as a Graduate Teaching Assistant. So off I went.

I knew no one and nothing about this city that my mom claimed was the farthest point I could possibly go excepting Alaska and Hawaii. I moved into an apartment that I later learned was owned by a slumlord. When the people upstairs took a shower, it dripped into my living room. I had bug bites over my entire body. I found someone looking for a roommate and moved out, losing rent and deposit. Not a great start. 

I had this perfect NJ accent, having lived only 20 miles outside New York City my whole life. When I walked into the Public Speaking class that I would be teaching, I was met by half the football team, each one deciding my accent was fair game. I was intimidated. I worked hard to get rid of that accent so I could be taken seriously. Eventually, they had to get up and give speeches, and the power was mine. Never underestimate a 100 pound gal from New Jersey.

I eventually began to feel more at home here. I bought a house, opened a mortgage company and became a real estate agent at a great company in the Greenlake area. 

Always competitive, I ran a 10K with some of my fellow realtors. Who would get the fastest time? Again, never underestimate. I ran that thing in 38 minutes. I registered for a marathon and ran it in 3:38. I wanted to become an aerobics instructor, and I did that too. Classes of up to 60 students, a couple times a day. The guy who hired me became my husband. 

After marriage, I birthed five children and suffered three pretty rough miscarriages. All in eight years. Our second child had special needs, and one very dark night, when he was 6 months old, the doctor told us he would “never be any good.” Exact words. We hunted down anyone who had a more positive perspective, and although there were still some extremely difficult days, he made much progress. He definitely has special needs, but he walks and talks and jokes and brings us much joy. 

Over the next years, I became involved in the school my kids would attend. I taught classes, acted as vice principal, and poured my life into building relationships with fellow teachers and students. Oh, and possibly one of my greatest feats: getting myself and five children out the door by 7:15, ready for the day at school. Lunches (most often) in hand.
 
I am a social introvert, loving people but absolutely needing  time alone. Yeah, that pretty much never happened. Some days, when I got to take a shower, it was hard convincing myself to turn the water off. Just one more hour…

Then there is the repetitiveness that comes with raising children. Answering their why’s, reminding them to brush their teeth, pick up their toys, be nice to their siblings. All while trying to shape them into kind and compassionate humans.

I am still married. Anyone who has been married past the honeymoon knows what a feat that is. Choosing day after day to let love win–a combination of resilience, humor, and commitment that can only come by flexing those muscles one day at a time, over and over again. Some days I was pretty sore.

Ok, those are a couple things I came up with. It’s long, but maybe someone needs to read it. When others share their stories, I can more easily find my own. Many will have narratives showing far greater strength.

It’s obvious by watching the news that there is more than one way to spin a story. We have to take control of the way our story is being told. If we can’t do it on our own, maybe we get together with someone who loves us and knows us well. 

I recently sat with a friend and showed her a tattoo that my daughter had given me. It is a small lightening bolt on my ankle. She commented that it was a reminder that I am a superhero.  Well, that’s not exactly what I thought when I was getting it. But, thank you friend, for seeing something I didn’t. It helps my story.

We’ve lived a lot of days; let’s find the good, the true, and the wonderful parts of them. And since we are the ones telling the story, let’s create a narrative of strength. Let’s write a story where we are a superhero, no matter how many twists and turns that story has to take. 

***Would we want to read a story told any other way?***