I love stories. Fairy Tales. Journeys of heroines and heroes. Character or plot driven, a novel or a brief narrative, no matter the genre, I love a good tale.
Since my first year as an educator, an Einstein quote has hung in my classroom, and has been a driving factor in my choice of literature for myself and my students:
If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales. –Albert Einstein
I asked a group of fourth grade students once WHY they thought Einstein would say such a thing. The response I remember to this day?
Fairy Tales help us to think and dream.
Javont (a fourth grade student)
There are stories that help us think and dream. There are stories that help us feel, act, change, grow.
And there are stories that damn us. In every sense of the word. Stories we tell ourselves, stories society tells us (and we choose to believe) that keep us small. Stories that limit. Stories that hurt. Stories that diminish joy. And often, theses stories are disguised as stories of safety and comfort.
Is there really comfort to be found in slow death?
One example. (or perhaps this will become a series, but for today, I shall limit it to ONE)
In an earlier post, I wrote THIS:
Food. Has. Saved. My. Life. Much like books, food has allowed me to numb out abusive situations that were too difficult for my young self to bear. That numbing was NECESSARY for survival as a 5-year-old child. As a 45-year-old woman, the numbing has got to go.
Also, along the food as “Savior” vein: Since February of 2016, food has been my medicine. Literally. By using nutrition to HEAL, AND, under the care of my ROCKSTAR functional M.D., I have been able gradually reduce and finally eliminate all anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications. (and I was taking a buttload). Buttload=3 anti-depressants, at high dosages, 2 anti anxiety meds, some pill for weight control, and something to sleep.
This post was published in a facebook group dealing with the Whole30 elimination plan, and a woman I’ve never met, seen, or communicated with took the time to respond.
My “limiting belief” My “Story”? That food has saved me.
YES, as a child, Food helped comfort and numb me, and later in life, food helped heal my body and mind,
but in the end, I saved me. (I’m sure God helped too).
Food is not my Savior.
- Food is not love.
- Food is not hate.
- Food is not comfort.
- Food is not sex.
- Food is not connection.
- Food is not celebration.
- Food is not family.
- Food is not punishment.
- Food is not reward.
It. Is. Not.
Food is simply, food. (small f)
Food is any substance consumed to provide nutritional support for the body. It is usually of plant or animal origin, and contains essential nutrients, such as carbohydrates, fats, proteins, vitamins, or minerals.
And to tell myself that food is anything MORE or LESS than the provided definition, is a bullshit story. And I’m just not writing that story anymore.
What are the stories you tell yourself?
Are they stories that, as Javont so eloquently puts it, help you “think and dream”? If not, perhaps it is time for some serious revising and editing.
Light and Love,