Storytelling as Medicine

We are in the season of Spring where i live, which is represented by the element of Air. This is the time of new beginnings, the fresh air of change, the rebirth and the sunrise as a new dawn. Air is connected to the suit of swords in Tarot, which are all about action, ambition, courage and change. Air is also magical for the speaker and listener. We use our words, and repeat them into the air by casting a spell with our words. When we speak out loud what we want, we are in fact speaking our truth more assertively and intentionally.

Storytelling is one of the oldest and most universal forms of community-building. We are not meant to tell stories alone, they are meant to be shared. And, since we are social creatures, we heal in healthy relationships. I view storytelling as a resource for healing, growth and transformation. Integration and acceptance of a new life transition or realization cannot truly happen without being witnessed and companioned through it. Stories are meant to be shared with listeners who hold space for the story and teller, both. This form of holding space ultimately becomes a catalyst to be more fully actualized as ourselves.

Here are some ways that i have found being a story listener to be a central piece in how i work and hold space as a psychotherapist. As a psychotherapist who works from a feminist, narrative framework, story-telling and listening, as well as holding space is a big part of the alchemy that happens in my therapy sessions. Feminist Narrative Therapy is a post-modern modality of therapy that is based in a deeper connection to the subjective meaning that is typically lost in everyday conversations.

Talk therapy gets a bad wrap and yet I’ve noticed that it is through speaking out loud that we get the opportunity of integration that helps our cognitive parts understand the information we receive from our body. We need to talk in order to process the work of everyday life. It is a balance of both/and of talking and doing. We offer this integration after major trips and pilgrimages, or a psychedelic immersion. Birth story processing is a key resource to help folks heal from birth trauma. Sometimes the experience is quiet reflection alone, or in a journal, but it is typically recapping or debriefing the story that unfolded regardless.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~ Maya Angelou

I used to work as a front-line crisis counsellor for folks who experienced gender-based violence. One of the strongest messages in the gender-based violence sector is that ‘your silence will not protect you.’ These powerful words by Audre Lorde are a direct proclamation of the power of healing that can happen when we share the truth of our lives. We also now know that we do not need to in fact go over our past traumas in chronologically story-book form in order to heal them. This is not how healing works, and yet when a person wants to be witnessed in their resilience and strength, that is also a powerfully catalyst to get to heal. One of the programs that i was most honoured to organize was an annual gathering for the people we supported. We would spend the day together, in workshops and intentionally sharing stories of healing and resilience. One of the stages of Post-Traumatic Growth is to share our story as a way to heal, and to also be an inspiration for others.

Stories help heal shame, as it is in the shared experience and common humanity that we offer a balm to shame, which would otherwise thrive in isolation. I have found this especially empowering for the people i support who may carry limiting beliefs about themselves, their bodies, or how they gave birth, or the break-up or break-down they experienced.

Some stories do not have to be real to be impactful. They jut need to be relatable in some way.

Archetype stories have become a special kind of steward for me, in so many ways – when i became an adult, a mother, and also in the years since becoming motherless. Now, as i surrender to perimenopause i am once again reading the feminine-based archetypal stories that feature wise women, medicine women, wild women, hags and crones. Myths and fairy/folk tales offer a universal truth for all of us, as well as a map that is possible for us. Any one of us can read the story and glean something that is familiar in it that reflects our own lived reality. This is comforting and affirming.

Marion Woodman was a great advocate for archetypal stories. In her book The Maiden King she shares this: “Our bodies love metaphors because they join our bodies to our soul rather than abandoning them to a soulless state. The ancient alchemists called this body soul state “the subtle body”. They believed that the deeper we go into the subtle body, the greater the soul treasures it contains.” I would take this point a step further and connect it to how stories in general are a way to deepen our relationship with our soul. If you have ever been in my therapy room with me, you will know that i love to share a good story as a metaphor as a way to explain a theory or experience.

Just as we are not meant to be alone with a story to tell, so too are we not meant to be alone in our grief. Transformation can happen for grievers when they are able to share these stories with someone who holds space for them, and both welcomes and encourages the stories to flow. This is done through the power of storytelling.

When my mom died, something that i found so kind and generous was when people in my life asked me to talk about her, to share her stories, to honour her legacy. In my own therapy practice, i offer grief work and tending to the broken hearts of someone who has experienced loss. I see how transformative this dedicated time is in the healing journey. It is through the process of being seen and heard that anyone who is grieving a loss can feel more held and less alone. Incorporating narrative in this stage is a helpful way to establish a more full sense of self.

Taking this a step further, when people are given an audience that is both compassionate and attuned, links can be made to the story and to their own life. For instance, I have found solace in cleaning out my mother’s things. Being able to share the experience of cleaning out my mother’s belongings is a universally understood rite of passage. We are not meant to do it alone, even if the act itself is a solitary process. Friends who asked me more than the standard “how are you?” received a more full and true account of my learnings and discoveries.

“Stories can be helpful tools for surviving hardship and navigating complexity. That is, when we craft them as sturdy boats, built to our dimensions and desires. But many stories are bigger than our single lives and desires. Many stories are invisible: so big, so culturally ingrained, that we are blind to the ways in which they drive and constrain our lives.” The Body is a Doorway, Sophie Strand

Not only was my grief more held, it was in the telling of the stories that i was able to come alive amidst my mourning. I was also able to truly express what i was going through, in detail. This invitation offered depth and spaciousness for me to debrief, unpack, and process what i was encountering in my grief.

No one is fully prepared for the time that their mother dies, no matter how expected it is, nor if the griever is a therapist herself, well-versed in holding space in grief counselling. I had to find the right balance between my personal grief process and my role as a psychotherapist who is well-versed in the healing balm of storytelling.

Where does the listener turn when she needs to be held and companioned through her own loss?

As we see in Rites of Passage theory, it is necessary to be witnessed in the transition from one version of us to a new sense of self. This is in fact, a way that we can move through the process of a rite of passage such as mother loss. Being witnessed in this transition is what can deepen the healing process, and in fact get to a more transformed and integrated sense of self.

In these dark and painful times, i’m turning to fantasy novels as support, solace, and sisterhood. For instance, in Starhawk’s novel Walking to Mercury, she shares that the healing that happens from ritual isn’t necessarily the trance work, drumming, dancing or singing that helps. “What healed was simply the opening to speak their pain and have it heard.”

I am working on ways to decolonize my therapy practice and life in general. In Dr. Jen Mullan’s book, Decolonizing Therapy, she shares powerful insights and guidance on how to shift from a western capitalist model to one that is more holistic and person-centred. As i deepen into my own process, i am reclaiming trust in my ability to bring in more a psychospiritual lens. While therapy is not inherently a ritual, we can infuse ritual into our work together. ((Stay tuned to my next journal article where i share some of the ways i do just that.)) ETA: Immediately after i posted this, i saw someone i deeply admire also share that “ritual is the original therapy.” One of the most beautiful experiences to witness is the shift folks experience when they sit in session and have someone who holds unconditional regard, a compassionate and non-judgemental stance, and also undivided attention for their story. This is what we call relational alchemy. The ultimate gift is witnessing someone transform and i am given the opportunity to experience vicarious resilience.

I see my therapy practice more and more like a ceremony. It is not mere work, transactional at best or hurtful at worst. Having a “career” is capitalist after all (thank-you Dra. Rocio for this reframe). Sitting together and sharing breath in the same room is a ceremony webbing the invisible golden thread of co-regulation, attunement and medicine between us, through us, and around us. Therapy is a prayer. It doesn’t have to be with another person; it is a catalysing moment that deepens our healing and transforms it. It just needs words spoken in some way to create that shift.

“The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed…the story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, that sustains, that allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning. As i told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing. I also needed to hear other women’s stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman’s story becomes a mirror that shows me a self that i haven’t seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illuminate my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different.” ~ Sue Monk Kidd, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter

Healing requires recovery, and it is a life-long journey to heal. Not because we are incapable of doing it better. Rather, new experiences can activate what felt healed in the past and is now being brought back up to the surface, but in a new way. For instance, maybe as a child you were not listened to. Maybe you were never asked to share your dreams or hopes, or what imaginative stories were. Growing up, we then internalise the story literally – that what we have to share is not worthy to be heard by others. The story isn’t the only thing that can be silenced – our dreams and self-worth also are threatened to die inside us.

Therapy can be an alchemizing experience where clients are reborn, birthing their healed self from the embers of a former life. Therapists are the doulas who support their clients in this transition of becoming. When we share how we are feeling or what we need, we are being authentic to ourselves. This level of witnessing or experience and listening with attention also lets us know that we exist and we matter. When we stop speaking up for our feelings and needs, we suffer a level of self-abandonment, and also possibly a true death.

I know this might seem dramatic. And yet I sit with this truth that my mom died because of complications of undiagnosed ovarian cancer. The story she was sharing for so long was that her stomach hurt. I know that this was a complaint, and I also know that no one really took it seriously, including myself. If only someone had listened sooner, I know things would’ve been different.

“During both painful and joyful moments, we can often recall the things that kept us going — the people who mirrored our own goodness to us — the words shared that reminded us of what could be, what could become, what was possible.” Lisa Olivera, in a newsletter

As a feminist therapist, one of our principles is to self-disclose from our lived experience. We don’t share where the wounds are still raw, but where the scars have healed over. Sharing stories can also be so affirming, empowering and inspiring for the folks that I give this medicine to. This shared humanity experience can further fuel their own motivation. Knowledge is Power and sharing resources is also a Feminist principle.

Another aspect of the therapeutic container is that the therapist becomes an active listener to someone’s story, with undivided attention and a very present attention. This then becomes a Reparative Experience – we are given the healing balm of being heard and listened to, and not carrying the fear of being too much, as we possibly once believed. So many of us, especially women, mothers, and life-long care providers are starving for the attention to be seen and heard as well. This may be a band-aid to a larger problem, the mental health and therapy industrial complex exists as an imperfect solution to a lack of strong community and connection. And yet, as we can practice repair work, earning secure attachment, and healing relational wounds in the therapy space, for now this is a solution that works.

The therapeutic relationship offers more than psychoeducation and passive listening. It also is a space for tender acts of affection, and vulnerability by wearing our hearts on our lab coat sleeves now and then. A compassionate witness and true space holder listens with reverence. Having a place to reflect and unpack can be alchemical.

At least for me, it is more than just a couch and a quiet nod. I get right into your story, and get comfy in my chair or on the floor right beside you.

A Ceremonial Month: Embracing the Path to My Wise Future Self

June is the halfway point to the year. It might be an arbitrary mid-way pause and yet it still serves as a place maker of time. June also represents a season on its own. For folks like me in the Northern hemisphere, it is the shift from Spring to Summer. It is the turning of the year into a delicious time of play and pleasure. For our friends in the global South, it also represents a pause to turn inward and rest during Winter.

June is the mirror that reflects a passage of time, especially for students. It is the season where we acknowledge an ending before a new beginning can start. This is the time of year that many students graduate from all things related to school – daycare, kindergarten, middle school, high school or further education. Graduation is the event that honours one thing completing before embracing the next adventure.

As all rites of passages, it is an end of a season and cycle-of-life shift.

And like all endings, we need to hold space for the grief of something ending, even if it was supposed to.

I recently attended a moving series of talks held by Kimberly Ann Johnson and Stephen Jenkinson. Their series centred around the ‘forgotten pillars’ of our society and it served as a call back to rebuild the foundation of how we live today. Some of the pillars were matrimony and patrimony and their connection to ancestors. The other two are kinship and ceremony.

It is these two that i will speak of here.
Stephen Jenkinson shares that a ceremony is the punctuation of a passage of time. I love this analogy as it captures the rightful placement at the beginning rather than just the ending. The ceremony is not meant to be the goal, but rather the pause between. So when my partner turned 50 in May, i knew we had to implement a more soul-lead ceremony into the celebration of his life. Turning 50 is a pretty significant punctuation. While I can’t believe i’m married to a 50 year old, i’m just a year away myself. His turning around the sun has given me pause to notice where we are in our life journey. It is a marker of sorts, not unlike Summer and June, as a practice to make sure we are where we want to be.

(In case you are wondering what i’m doing here in this photo, i hosted a special evening honour my partner, who wanted a jam night. We made our singing debut, that you can see a glimpse into HERE.)

Some of us had various rites of passage be stolen by Covid. Maybe it was your own school graduation or maybe a wedding or something more intimate. Whatever it is, we are not meant to cross a threshold alone. We are supposed to be witnessed and held.

And yet it’s not exactly a practice of jumping over the hot coals, but more like an exhale that embodies the ebb and flow of life. We are not just celebrating this number called 50, but also bearing witness to who he has been up until this moment. Period Pause Punctuation. The ceremony is like a comma that joins two chapters in one’s life.

Now begins the good work of setting intentions and manifesting into fruition the next steps.

We are not quite Crones or elders yet, so we are both embracing the invitation to apprentice in our future roles. Both of us are anticipating this next place in our spiral path.

I attended a family member’s wedding in May – all sorts of rites of passage in the spring re-birth season! The actual ceremony was rather quick, and the officiant did use the magic words of matrimony and community. It made me recall my own wedding ceremony of many moons ago.

At my own celebration, we had everyone sit in a circle, all 75 of us. I had a living altar of wildflowers from my mom’s garden as the threshold centrepiece. We endeavoured all the guests to repeat a community manifesto to declare their commitment to us. We lead the guests in song and i wore a dress in my favourite shade of blue. I love how we say the bride is walking down the altar, not dissimilar to the association we have to sacred altars.

At the time, i refused to call it a wedding as that felt so off-brand for me. Now i know why: I didn’t want to connect my story to that of a cis-het patriarchal framework of marriage. Stephen also has valid laments about the business of weddings. They have become more of a party than a ceremony. I’m so grateful that a younger version of me was able to create such a meaningful ceremony that future me (the one alive now in my body) deeply respects.

I studied to be a group facilitator at school. We had whole classes devoted to group process and holding a container. Facilitating circles and group gatherings have been a big part of my life for over twenty years. In fact, in my program, we sat in a circle for most of our classes. We practised leading group workshops and exercises, and learned about group guidelines and considerations.

Now, in the mid-way point of my life, i am integrating a more soul-aligned lens into my work as a community space holder and ceremonialist. Into all of my life, really. This has come at the perfect time as my own children embark on natural rites of passage. Side note: This is something i offer in my work. If you want to learn more about how to introduce ceremony into your life, i share more about my work here. I’d be honoured to be a part of your dream seed.

What is the point of me sharing this here? For one thing, it’s a hint at the way my work has been evolving.

It’s also because I had a realization recently that is connected to one of the things i grieve with the loss of my mom. It’s the knowledge about women’s bodies and having a place to go for information and guidance. I only recently noticed how old she was when she was going through perimenopause and have so much more compassion for her, even though it was also a very hard time for me, partly due to her treatment of me. I wish 16-year old me knew what i know now.

And now i sit here in my own change process and am alone. Sure, i have friends who are in perimenopause and recently crossed the field into menopause. But what i needed all along, and didn’t know is the eldership of crones and older women.

What I needed was a multi-generational community, and kinship.

This has been on my own mind for the past 2 years, since my own mom died.

I was not raised with intergenerational wisdom and i now see that i needed it as a child, as much as i still need it now. I am at the wild edge of unbecoming someone i once was. I am shedding old identities, and one that has a physical manifestation – Menstruator. This past month, i had my first menstruation after an absence of 6 months. I was so ready to embrace Menopause that it threw me off to bleed again. I forgot what medicines and practices are important. An impatient Part forgot that nature still is in the driver seat. Silly me, who told me i should assume to know the future?! I got it alongside a new moon no less, so i’m honouring this alignment as a gift – a chance to plant some intentions for what my own ceremony may be. But more importantly, what i need in my life now to nourish me and support me as i embrace this new identity.

We all need guides. We are not meant to go it alone. I am awakening up to this need now. Better late than never right? I think a big part of it is seeing how alone my own mom was at this time. I’m not sure if this is the narrative i have told myself so much it has become truth, or if it is factually accurate. What i am noticing though is that i don’t want to enter this next stage of life alone.

I spoke about honouring some Blood Mysteries before. I held a ceremony for my daughter and last year. I plan to conjure up a similar one for once i cross the portal into being post-menopausal. Until that happens, i am casting a vision to grow Village aunties into being. My aunties will not be blood related so they will need to be curated via neighbours, friends, book guides, online mentors, and community members I am starting to meet.

I am exactly where i am supposed to be.

Spring is in the Air – Baby Blessings

I walked by 2 robins this morning on my way to work. And it seems like it was overnight that crocuses (is that the plural form?) started to sprout out of the Earth. It gave me pause to notice that Spring is here, even if in baby steps.

Speaking of baby steps, i shared a vulnerable post for my last blog entry and am so moved by all the wonderful feedback and support i received. My daughter has since turned 5. We tell her birth story each year on her birthday, and this year it seemed to mean more to her. Things are starting to take shape in her memories and the women who have been my village have now also become hers.

About a month before she came Earth-side, i had wanted to have a ceremony for myself. I know it’s not usually the pregnant one who hosts her own shower, but i didn’t want a traditional baby shower this time around. I had already had one with my first child and really treasured it. But as i didn’t need more stuff, i wanted to be able to honour the pregnancy, labour and birth in a more spiritual and holistic way.

So, after doing some research (like reading this helpful book), i asked a lovely friend and community organizer to help me. She offered her home as host. With a circle of about 10 women we danced, we ate, we chatted, and they made this beautiful Blessing Necklace for me. I wore it during the final days of my pregnancy, and i had it close by during the labour and birth. It still holds space for me by my desk. The necklace is made of special beads that each friend brought – buttons from their own grandma, crystals that bear meaning, and beads that bring joy.

I’m sharing this part of my own birth story as a way to remind us that we have a choice in how we honour our birth stories, right from when we become pregnant to after we bring our baby Earth-side. If you don’t want to do a baby shower, don’t; if you don’t want to cover your belly in a belly cast, don’t. But if you want to dance and have a foot bath in rose petals – the world is your oyster. Having choice in your story allows you to feel more present in the birth and postpartum.