We all need a story

"Tell me a story," I said as I snuggled in, both of us having decided to make peace with my insomnia. Somewhat bewildered and probably uncomfortable, my significant other replied that he didn't have any. This, in retrospect, could be the moment our relationship started not to work as well as it once had. Then again, maybe not. He actually had plenty of stories, tales from a life often different from mine, words that I still hold close to my heart. They remind me that just because a story might not end as you'd hoped, that doesn't mean it ended badly. It might simply be that it's time for a new chapter.


People without stories do exist, however. Traumatized children, for example. It's not that their lives don't have events, moods, feelings, settings, characters. They do. A lot happens, actually. And some...a lot...of it is awful beyond imagination. But because the narrative arc did not unfold the way it should have in the child's first years on earth, they essentially lose the ability to grasp, much less tell, their own story. They hold it at a distance, trying not only to bury the past, but also to avoid the future. After all, the elements of their early story let them down. Why take that risk again?


Needless to say, this breaks my heart. It breaks for them and all they have suffered. It breaks because their story literally scares them half to death (and yes, I mean "literally" - check their heart rate and pupils during therapy). What's more, their refusal of their own story can make them resistant to other stories as well. If there is one gift I have always wanted to give, besides the obvious one of unconditional love, it would be words. I want children to have not just their words, but also all the rest, the ones that create word-journeys to other worlds. Maybe those words, those worlds, will give them what they need. Maybe they will let them live often happily, always wholly, ever after.