A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending a workshop on telling your life story, led by Diane M. Millis, PhD, a writer and spiritual director. She is the author of Re-Creating a Life: Learning How to Tell our most Life-Giving Story, and I am working my way through the book/exercises as a way of improving the memoir I am currently writing, and just simply to turn the corner on seeing my life in a new way.
The other day, I noticed that the next chapter was called, "Who is the Protagonist in your story?" Before I even had a chance to read the chapter, my brain responded, "My Father."
Uh-oh.
Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.
Let's put aside for a moment that a therapist would have a field day with this. Let's put aside for a moment the fact that my dad was such a passive black hole, and that even now it is hard to nail down anything active that he "did to me." Indeed, he did so little in so many respects that the fact that I see him as a protagonist is extremely surprising. All of this is for another day.
But the headline is that, on some very essential level, I have not seen myself as the main character in my own life story. This is horrifying given the fact that I have been single all these years and operating on my own in the world. And yet I can't help but wonder to what extent that this is the experience of many other women; even in 2020, we are in a culture that can treat us as support staff, no matter what our actual role is.
Something has snapped into place since journaling about this surprising response. Feisty little Lizzie has come to life. "I don't think so! I don't want anyone else, male or female, to be the main character in my story! This is my story!" She's two years old, and her feet are stomping on the ground!
Clearly, some work to do. I am thankful for the time to do it, and for the wonderful tool of this book.
