The stories we tell ourselves

Stories we tell ourselves 

Last 2 days have been a trail and a revelation to me. My guarded optimism that “this time will be different” has been shattered into pieces and I’m now more grounded in reality. There’s a pain there. Yet no disappointment which I suppose is growth. 

Growth at work says that when the chips are down you can get it “all” done. Growth at home says I will never again. Pain in my heart from pain in my body has meant that I don’t sleep. I sat with my pain at 3am 2 nights ago for 2 hours. Intriguing experience I don’t recommend being in enough pain for you to sit with it for 2 hours but if you are… then I recommend not trying to fix it. Also not “wallowing in it” Just sat, felt pain and wondered what was coming up. It was an actual physical pain in my chest. Funnily loneliness is not one of the feelings, neither was stress, neither was anger. My feeling that I felt for 2 hours on a freezing cold night was “lack of safety” My boss did some things that I can’t unsee and it chilled me to the bone. My life was a wonderful romantic adventure due to love and my heart stopped in its beating about a week ago. Therefore… the disaster of my life was able to be exposed. I can’t really go back to how I felt last Wednesday, that’s wilful ignorance. I need a beat. A moment. A break from my deeply unstable environment. 

I need to focus on me. The breaking point was when my mum’s house flooded and he showed all the real humanity of a teaspoon. There are 2 choices when people wrong you. You can “fuck around and find out” how low they can go or you can “ginger up” and move forward. 

What are you going to do Anna? Ginger up sounds attractive, very big boss girl. Yet at heart I am a little girl who wants to feel safe and now have to play into the “strong black woman” archetype. 

I was going to make an excuse for myself “it’s so rare I get to do  XYZ” bull. Why? Because it’s a story I tell myself. I’m dog tired right now yet my tangential brain is firing amazingly. I love it. 

Next is the “fearsome boogeyman/I am powerless story” how do I lean out of that without being/seen as a “angry black woman” Asserting my rights without people telling stories about me. Asserting my rights ever is a conundrum for me. 

I had an outpouring of grief when my mum’s house flooded. Someone showed me a modicum of humanity. My body broke down. I allowed myself to feel. I wrote from my chest from the person still deep inside. The Grace out of “Grace and Courage” I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I allowed myself to have an ideology. To have a vision. To be honest and myself and hopeful and joyful. I missed that person. She came out for an evening… that saved me because Friday hit me like a train, and if I hadn’t remembered the soft, gentle lady I would have been “mental breakdown” territory. This is off the back of people pushing me “too far.” I miss her, she was such an inspiration for me. Walking into an office actually believing that I could be a change. Someone my inner child would have hugged. Someone brave. The truth is. I’m scary. I’m actually a person to be terrified of. I have always known that and so have always played myself down to make others comfortable. In the words of my “hard self” “Your comfort is not my concern” Grace, I extend to you. But you need to know and understand that it is grace and not personal connection, righteousness or your rights. Unfortunately some people have not understood that. It’s no worry. I am not your parent, I am not your teacher. Therefore it’s not my job to teach you manners/decency. “Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord and I surely will repay” that comes from a place of pain, pride and self righteousness. I’m not going to “show you” anything. I’m not going to “teach you a lesson” I am going to be my authentic self. Actually my authentic self. Someone I actually haven’t met yet. I meet glimpses of her. 

I know the following:

She’s not pretty, she’s stunning and sexy.

She’s not nice. She’s kind, generous, thoughtful and there’s a difference.

She’s not a “strong black woman” she’s the gentlest gentle lady you ever knew. 

She is very boundaried. And actually savage. That bit is fun.

She love’s laughing and has a wild romantic heart. My parents love story means I am actually a believer in fairytale love stories. 

Vulnerability shows strength to me. She can open herself up to criticism without rocking her self worth.

She has varied interests, is industrious, resourceful. 

Her fashions she is rocking are fabulous always. 

She’s calm, serene and magnanimous in the face of adversity. The God she serves has not broken her irretrievably yet. And he will never abandon her. Her life is a walking testimony to God’s grace. She knows she is God’s favourite child. Just like she was Beale Griffin’s 

She has big energy and “no chill” 

Love is deep, thoughtful and kind. Love is 1 Corinthians 4-7

Before I was surviving. I got no points from surviving. We now move to thrive mode. Remember I don’t need to bring others down or “humble the white man” to get what I want. What I want is “Big love.” But for humanity… for every single one of God’s children. My life is going to be a beacon of hope, for girls like me. 

That’s the bedtime story I want to tell my daughters. A story of hope, love, and finding peace and joy in oneself 

I’m glad I’m not bitter. Bitterness is easy. Serenity is hard.

Love you Bea, but I’m leaving you in 2022. In 2023, Bea is going to Be-Anna.

Grace and Courage

Annetta Mother Smith