The Stories We Are Afraid to Tell
How God wired our brains to heal through the words we use and stories we tell
I’ve always believed that words can change the world. Because from the very beginning—they have. “In the beginning was the Word.” And “God spoke the World into existence” with words.
I’ve been thinking a lot about stories lately. In my mess of shifting identity as a new mom I struggled to think of myself as a writer and creative when much of my writing and creating had stopped for a while.
Of course, it’s come back now but in a different form than before. I was thinking about how I would define myself as I’ve begun to work on a new project that is a little different from my normal work and I’ve realized it still feels very “me” because essentially all I’m doing is telling a story. In whatever form it takes I’m ultimately just a storyteller.
Even if you aren’t someone who grew up staying up late into the night to finish a new book or someone who loves to pour their words out in a journal—you too are a storyteller. It is a part of our God given identity and lately I’ve been learning about how integral it is to know our story, to understand it, and to tell it.
As Dallas Willard famously wrote,
“Understanding is the basis of care. What you would take care of you must first understand, whether it be a petunia or a nation.”
If we are to care about the stories we tell, we need to put on our adventure caps and go on the epic journey of discovering what they mean. As we learn more about ourselves, we can really care about the stories we tell—to ourselves, others, and God.
I’ve shared pieces of my story online. As a lover of words I feel like I just can’t help it. But I’ve also seen the incredible impact as I’ve done so. Of course, there’s always those who just don’t get it. (Maybe one day they will, or maybe not. Both are OK.) But to me, the impact for the ones who need to hear the story is always worth it.
There will always be people who hear our stories or words and push them away. (Usually, it has more to do with them than it does with us.) But for us telling our stories and using true, thoughtful, and honest words matters. Actually, God created our brains to heal through utilizing these tools.
I started calling my son’s birth “trauma” really quickly. Trauma is a scary word. As I told the story in safe spaces like therapy I realized “trauma” was the appropriate word and words have power. Later, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. “Depression” was another word that felt really scary to me. I didn’t want that label but again—my love for choosing words, especially the right ones, really came through for me again. Although I didn’t like that one, I stuck with it.
Later, another word, “deconstruction” came up. It felt heavy and weighty in a way I didn’t like. But it was also true in other ways. Occasionally, I used it with safe people who didn’t hear it with judgement or baggage but embraced the truth in the word that meant sometimes things have to fall down in order to be built back up.
Poetry is one of my favorite forms of writing but it’s also the most intimidating. As any writer knows the fewer the words the greater the challenge. Because with less space there is even more pressure to get it right. Each word has to carry the weight of its purpose and follow through with the intended impact.
Rough drafts are rough because they’re often too long. We need to cut it down and get to the point—the right words.
As I’ve started to get more comfortable saying words and telling stories that sometimes feel funny in my mouth, a lot of other stories have found their way to me. I sometimes feel like I’m in a virtual confessional where people find this space online safe to share something they might not say somewhere else. I’ve heard a lot of hard words in this space lately—abuse, anxiety, depression, trauma, deconstruction—just to name a few.
But most often I’ve heard the lack of those words or something along the lines of “I’m not sure what to call it” or “I don’t want to call it this just yet.”
In each of those moments I see myself. Because I still feel a little uncomfortable with some of the words this season of life has pushed me to use. I know words have impeccable power and sometimes I feel a little afraid like if I say “depression” it’s going to get bigger and harder to deal with.
Incredibly, God designed us so that the exact opposite is true.
Dr. Daniel Siegel wrote in The Developing mind: How Relationships and the Brain Interact to Shape Who We Are that
“when we give words to our experience, we can take what’s implicit and make it explicit, and we being to integrate our brain’s neural circuitry.”
Some of the harder words to use or more difficult stories to tell might feel like they’re better kept inside. For some of us, we might even be tempted to not be fully honest with ourselves. I know there are many aspects of my story that I’ve only been able to put words to in the safety of a caring relationship with someone else. Shame does that.
God heals us in safe communities where we can "Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2 (NIV)
Asking our bodies, minds, or spirits to not tell the truth is a big ask. It goes against the way God wired us. In a way, that is what we are doing when we aren't telling our stories. This doesn’t mean we need to be vulnerable with everyone but we can be honest. (Dr. Alison Cook shares more about the difference in this episode of her podcast The Best of You.)
When we find the right words and begin to tell stories full of truth even if some of the words feel hard at first—then we can heal. In community, in prayer, and even in relationship with ourselves.
In The Body Keeps the Score trauma expert Bessel van der Kolk writes,
“being able to put sensations and feelings into words allows us to know what we know, and helps us to feel in charge of our lives. Trauma robs you of the feeling that you are in charge of yourself.”
I still don’t always like saying I have postpartum depression. But the words are true and important. Sometimes when I say them I feel a little lighter. More in control, more me. I think there is a little part of my brain that lights up and I think God made it that way on purpose.
Our stories and our words can hurt us, but they can also heal us.
Brene Brown put it like this in Daring Greatly:
"Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they're never weakness. Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change. When we own our stories, we get to write the ending. When we don't own our stories, our stories own us. God calls us to bring our whole selves, including our vulnerabilities, into our relationship with Him. It is in this space of honesty and openness that we find true connection and intimacy with God."
If there is a story you are afraid to tell, afraid to put into words, or worried about how a certain label or framework might fit into your life—I get it. But even if it starts as just a whisper between you and God, telling the stories we are afraid to tell is the path to healing.
And maybe one day if you say it out loud, someone else will find hope and healing in the way they see themselves in your words. If there’s anything I’ve learned by calling my trauma “trauma” it’s that using that word has pulled a lot of people closer to me than I ever imagined it could. For that, I’m thankful.
My brain lit up reading this. Yes, Molly!