We are storytellers.
The only problem with that is we believe our stories to be true.
Consider,
As human beings,
We try to put a meaning on everything.
Perhaps it's to try to understand.
Thinking,
If I understand,
Then it will make sense to me.
So something occurs.
Whatever it is that occurs is neutral,
Simply a fact.
But then I tell a story about it,
Which creates a feeling.
And the feeling is not about the event.
The feeling comes from the story that I tell about the event.
Something I just totally made up.
I'm going to say that again.
I create a feeling from the story I'm telling and believe it to be true,
Even though I just made it up.
It has nothing to do with the event or occurrence.
Perhaps it might look like this.
I look at my husband and he has a frown on his face.
That is a fact.
Neutral.
Really doesn't have a meaning until I make up a story about it.
So I see the frown and immediately start telling my story.
Why is he frowning?
It brings a feeling of curiosity or anxiety.
What have I done now?
I just created a feeling of fear,
Frustration and anger-vision.
I could never measure up.
I just created a feeling of anger and sadness.
And then,
Well,
Screw you.
I just created a feeling of anger and rage.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.
And just maybe I will leave you first.
I created a feeling of resentment and vindictiveness.
And then another voice.
Lynn,
You know better than that.
Now I feel guilt and embarrassment.
Your dad was right.
You are stupid.
I feel shame and guilt.
He's just frowning.
You don't know why.
I feel ashamed and chastised.
But I have to know why he's frowning.
I know it's about me.
I have to know what I've done.
And I feel desperate and worried.
It could go on indefinitely.
I could write a novel.
But perhaps,
If I stopped and asked him why he's frowning,
He might simply say,
I'm frowning because I have a headache.
Shucks.
I had such a poor me story.
So just to notice,
Something occurs.
It's neutral.
I tell a story about it.
And my story creates my feelings.
My feelings are not about the actual event.
My feelings come from the story I tell.
And I believe my story.
A personal example.
One of the things I love about my sweet husband is that he's such a good listener.
And he keeps his eyes open and he's not just placating me.
I usually get up before he does.
Not a problem for either of us.
This one particular morning,
I was up early and began to think about something.
I don't recall what.
By the time he came into the room,
I was in tears.
And he asked,
What's wrong?
Do you want to talk about it?
Well,
Of course I did.
I began my story.
And he was patiently listening.
He never says much.
He just listens.
He's not like some men who think they're supposed to fix it or tell you how to fix it.
And then the telephone rang.
I got off the couch and answered it.
It was a fairly long conversation.
I returned to the couch to continue my story.
And wait,
He's not sitting in his chair ready to listen to me.
He's in the kitchen doing what he does every morning.
Unloading the dishwasher and whistling.
Well,
I really do love his whistling.
And as I said,
Unloading the dishwasher is what he does every morning.
But anytime you hear a but,
You know there's a story coming.
Remember that,
Sweet child.
I thought he doesn't care about me and my problem.
The kitchen is more important than I am.
And to make it worse,
He's whistling.
It proves I'm not important to him.
I'm pissed,
Angry,
Frustrated.
I feel sad and unloved.
He's just a man.
They could care less.
And I felt aggravated.
Then in my mind,
I saw an image of an old player piano where you put your foot on the pedals and the piano plays a melody by itself.
It was playing the same old story again and again on the player piano.
Nobody loves me.
Everybody hates me,
Especially men.
I'm going off and eat worms.
For the very first time,
I saw it clearly.
It was my story about men that I had created up in my growing up years.
You can't trust them.
They don't care.
They use you,
Etc,
Etc.
I'd nauseam.
I started laughing and then another voice said,
You just wanted to be mad at him.
I laughed even harder.
My husband stepped into the living room and said,
Honey,
Would you like to talk some more?
I told him,
Nope.
Got it figured out.
And we had a lovely breakfast.
I hope this is useful to you.
