I love a good story.
I spent most of my childhood reading books under the covers with a flashlight. The hours in the day didn't seem to be enough time for me to read everything that was on my list. I didn't consider the strain I was putting on my eyesight. I didn't worry about getting a good nights sleep. Who needed rest when there were so many worlds I could explore in the pages of a book.
When we were young, every story began the same. "Once upon a time..." there was a character. The character always ended up in a not ideal situation. Our hearts would race a little bit faster with anticipation as we read of their trouble, but at the back of our minds there was a quiet assurance. We had peace in knowing that at the end of each story everyone would end up "happily ever after."
This taught us some things. We learned about the power of words and how they created worlds. We got to explore the depths of our imagination. We saw characters that had brief moments of tragedy, which in the end turned into triumph. And in the midst of all this storytelling we somehow believed the lie that the best stories are the ones where everything turns out perfect in the end.
I believe this is why so many of us hide our stories. It's not that we don't have a story to share, but our life's don't come as neatly packaged as they do in fairytales. Our stories are messy. They are plots full of unfair scenarios and painful plights. Sometimes we find that we are the damsel in distress who no one seems to care enough to rescue. We are the Cinderella who's been waiting for her prince to slip on the glass shoe, confirming it's meant to be. Yet when we look out in the distance, he doesn't appear to be coming.
We are the Goldilocks who tried all three chairs and slept in multiple beds only to never find a real sense of love or belonging. Nothing felt right. We are the Three Little Pigs who were confident that the house of brick would protect us from anything tragic ever happening to us. It didn't. Where did that leave us? It left us surrounded by the ruins, picking up broken bricks, dazed and confused. That wasn't how the story was supposed to end.
Then comes the shame.
We walk around feeling as though we somehow failed. We look at the fragmented pieces of our life and we wonder how we got here. We hold our stories close to our chest, petrified that people will somehow find out that our lives aren't perfect. We believe that in order for our lives to have meaning everything must have a "happily ever after." The plot has to all make sense.
But maybe it doesn't.
What if our stories were never meant to be perfect? What if the brilliance of your journey has nothing to do with happy endings and magical moments? Perhaps your story begins deep in the forest where you spent most of your life lost. Nobody came to save you. Nobody whisked you away to the palace. You had to claw your way out. You had to fight!
Perhaps when you pull back your dress to expose your glass slippers, you have nothing to show but your bare rugged feet. They are tattered and torn, revealing the hard things you have had to walk through. They are messy and bloody. They are covered in bruises and bunions. They have walked through fire. They definitely aren't the result of a story that anyone would want to go through. And I think thats exactly what makes them so beautiful. It shows you survived something. What was meant to destroy you, didn't overtake you.
I think the world needs to hear more stories, ones with painful plot twists and frustrating endings. We need people that are bold enough to share where they are, even before they know how its all going to pan out. I know these stories may not be as polished as some others out there, but they are yours and its crucial you own them.
Let go of the shame. It's time to clear your throat, speak boldly and not be afraid to reveal where you have been. I guarantee it will make a difference. As you become transparent you give the world around you permission to do the same. You will see like minded souls, who all this time have been hiding behind the trees, begin to step out and make their way to you. And as they get closer, you'll realize its not judgement you see in their eyes, but relief. You"ll see flawed storytellers with tears streaming down their face, reveal their battered soles as they whisper "Me, too."
You can find Megan on Facebook and her blog, Discover Diaries.