“We are all stories, in the end.”
I was talking to a friend last week and our conversation went deep. She was telling me some things about her past, and when she got to a certain part of her story her voice changed. It tightened. She stopped making eye contact. Her shoulders hunched. She got physically smaller.
I looked at her, this funny, smart, strong woman who I’ve grown to love and respect, folding in on herself. Another origami girl. I got pissed
I held my hand up and said, “Wait. Stop.” I leaned in and asked quietly, “Who is telling your story right now?”
She looked at me, confused.
I believe babies are born whole, good, and loved. So that’s our story when we come into the world- Whole. Good. Loved. That’s our baseline. The most basic of plot points.
Then our stories get entrusted to the…
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