The Stories We Tell Ourselves

the “noise” of feeling not enough drowned out nearly everything else.

I still hear that voice inside. It still chatters away. It is still a story I tell myself.

We do believe them: these stories we tell ourselves.

  • I am not heard.
  • I am not seen.
  • I am not wanted / appreciated / acknowledged.
  • Open up a blank document on your computer.
  • Ask yourself, “What do the voices within me want to say?” (The young child. The teenager. The jilted lover. The struggling spouse. The desperate parent. The exhausted woman.)
  • No editing. No censoring. No holding back.
  • Close your eyes and type. (Something happens when I close my eyes and give myself full and complete permission to type EVERYTHING that comes to mind — no matter how harsh, how caustic, how painful, how afraid. I hear even more. I listen even deeper. And I let myself speak without restraint or shame or some imagined need to keep things tidy and manageable. Not every time, but many times, I type things that nearly take my breath away, that shock me with their force, that break my heart. Like: “I am not heard. I am not seen. I am not wanted / appreciated / acknowledged.” But when all of me is allowed, when I don’t push the voices down, or dismiss them as silly teenage (or middle age and beyond) rants, I see threads of those stories I’ve been told and the ones I tell myself. *sigh*
  • Ask yourself: what are the themes? what’s underneath? what have I always desired, at core, that shows up in every one of these voices? how might that very desire be what I most deeply deserve?

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Ronna Detrick

Ronna Detrick

I work and write on behalf of women and their re-visioned stories — past, present, and future. Stories told and lived on our own terms. As it should be!