Reframe of Reference

All of our lives are so rich in detail, so which ones do you choose to focus on? Which ones do you pick out and weave into the tapestry of your “story”? Can we honor what has happened but still choose how that defines us and shapes our lives?

We want this to be a place for exploring the different sides of the stories we tell ourselves. A place to play with the concept of lenses, and hopefully perhaps a chance to realize how powerful and omnipresent they are in creating our worlds.

So how are you framing your view? How well is that working for you? Which stories might you like to retell? The choice is yours to make.

So here are the parameters for this exercise:

*It’s got to be true. At least in the subjective sense. Feel free to use poetic license, you can euphemize and exaggerate, but both should be honest voices from self, even if one of them requires a bit of a stretch (that’s usually the rosier version in my world, am I alone here;)).

*This isn’t about telling your whole life story. Pick a piece of the puzzle and tell that particular tale.

*Hold it lightly. This is meant to be fun! We think life is precious so let’s not waste it by taking ourselves too seriously. Is it therapy? Is it creative writing? It’s a fun exercise for self-reflection and hopefully at least a little all of the above!

*Feel free to take an alias if it makes it easier to share.

*And if a title comes to mind, we would like that.

Below you will find my first crack at retelling the old stories I tell myself. I figured I might as well start at the very beginning. I’m excited to share more of my stories retold and to hear some of yours too!

Origin 

Old Story

I was born an accident. Likely alive due to a hefty dose of Catholic guilt and a heavy sense of duty to responsibility. My parents, good people (who’d seen some hard times) but not so good for each other or so I was told. I assume the honeymoon was over at least sometime shortly after my presence was discovered. So all of this to say- things might have gotten off to a rocky start.

My first act of being alive was to disappoint my father by simply being a girl, a “shortcoming” that would haunt me. ‘Children should be seen and not heard’ was a family favorite and I became quite good at
blending into the background and not causing a fuss.

After my parents had split, they both moved around a lot, which meant I was always the new kid. Being a constant stranger only made matters worse by how painfully shy and introverted I was turning out to be. I started to hate school around grade one, and due to all these factors compounding, I was misdiagnosed with a learning disorder. (I likely have ADHD, but that was never uncovered, maybe thankfully due to treatments and attitudes at that time).

I was a kid, I didn’t know anything could be any different, but I’ve had to spend time in my adult life sifting through some of this wreckage to get right with myself and my place in the world.

New Story 

I was born in the desert in the spring, already a joker and ready to laugh with the world. My parents were good people who had survived some challenging times. They made promises to try not repeat the past and give me better than what they got.

I have beautiful memories of magical adventures my parents thought up for me. A childhood rich in imagination with time to appreciate nature and play in the dirt. I was free to play and explore.

I grew up surrounded by music, lush gardens, beloved family pets, and home-cooked meals. I grew up with love of learning and books and a huge desire to create.

We moved a lot, so I developed to be an adaptable and flexible human. I can easily relate to new perspectives, so empathy comes easily.

I was a kid, I didn’t know anything could be any different, but I am learning as an adult to spend time being thankful for all the parts of my unfolding journey and to get right with myself and my place in the world.

Submit:

To submit your very own Reframe of Reference, email at submit@massivephobia.com 

Please use Reframe of Reference Submission as the subject. Can’t wait to hear from you.

 

Edumacation

Old Story I remember really loving kindergarten. My teacher was in a word delightful. I immediately switched from crying and first-day-fears to (literally) skipping my way to school. Of course, I loved playing at all of the stations (water station was my main jam),...