The Voices in Your Head

Aug 27, 2021 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Maybe it’s only me, but no matter how long it’s been since some of my less-than-stellar stories took place, I still hear an inner dialogue, an incessant chatter, that keeps droning on.

An example:

I was incredibly insecure as a teenager. I didn’t go to more than a couple dances, wasn’t invited to the weekend parties, and never had a boyfriend. I was convinced that all of this was because I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, enough-period, to merit any of the privileges that were reserved for those who clearly were good enough, pretty enough, enough-period. (I agree: pretty typical teenage angst.)

Here’s the irony: at the very same time that I bemoaned virtually everything about my life, I was getting straight-A’s, performing in piano competitions, and fulfilling multiple leadership positions at school.

Somehow, the latter didn’t make up for the former. Despite the good things happening around me, to me, even because of me, the “noise” of feeling not enough drowned out nearly everything else.

And that noise was (and is) the story I told myself — over and over again.

Even more ironically, no matter the ways in which my life has changed over the many decades since then, no matter how much data I have accumulated as evidence of my inherent value and worth…

I still hear that voice inside. It still chatters away. It is still a story I tell myself.

Maybe you can relate?

You have your own version(s), I’m sure. Stories you told yourself as a teenager, even younger, and certainly ongoing, that have not remained isolated to those years alone.

The stories we tell ourselves, no matter how long ago, persist, inhabit, and stay. They keep on chattering…

And despite the effort we’ve extended to not give them space or thought or energy, they just. keep. talking.

We believe them: these stories we tell ourselves.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to be controlled by default, or live a story that is not one I intentionally choose.

And so…

I listen even more closely…

What is this story really about? When I pay close attention to the internal dialogue and incessant chatter, what do I actually hear?
What beliefs about myself have I formed (and reinforced) because of its presence?
Are they actually true?
What IS actually true?

Once I am willing to see, name, and acknowledge the stories I’m telling myself, then and only then, can I respond, change, and choose what I’ll hold on to — or not.

I get to choose what I am willing to believe…and what I can now release.

Mareo McKracken said

“Our reality and our actions will always match the story we believe.”

Mmmmm. Indeed. We get to decide about the stories we believe — the ones we’ve been told and the ones we tell ourselves – along with the chatter that accompanies. And then we can just. let. go. and instead, hear our own voice, our endless and infinite wisdom and truth. Ahhhhhhh.

*****

The ongoing work of looking more closely at stories — those that you’ve been told and those that you tell yourself — is an important part of SOVEREIGNTY: my 9-week program.

I am convinced that those stories are often the very things that determine sovereignty’s absence instead of its presence, that hold you back from being all of who you know yourself to be.

And this is what I want for you! Authenticity. Alignment. Full integrity. EVERY BIT of who you are – showing up in all your amazingness and gloriousness!

May it be so.

I cannot recommend Ronna & SOVEREIGNTY enough. Through the nine weeks together, I rediscovered the Sovereignty that has always existed in me, but was buried through conditioning and fears. Ronna seamlessly weaves structure and a framework, along with ancient, sacred stories of women — some of which I knew, others I didn’t. By reclaiming those stories of silenced women, we learned as participants to reclaim ourselves — to tell our own stories, to claim our own stories, and to claim our sovereignty. Every week I looked especially forward to these stories, which now feel a part of me. There is SO much wisdom through the container that Ronna provides. Beyond grateful. ~ Tricia Bolender, Executive Coach

All the details are here. Registration closes on Monday, 9/6/21.

If your stories could talk…

Apr 11, 2021 | My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality

A number of years ago I learned about intertextuality.

It is how one text speaks to or shapes another; how seemingly distinct texts can be in relationship with one another.

Here’s an example: three books stacked together in my home:

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte is the powerful story of a womans moral and spiritual development in 1st-person prose.
Humans of New York by Brandon Stanton captures the spirit of a city (and our humanity) through photography.
Women is a collection of 170 photographs by Annie Leibovitz with an accompanying essay by Susan Sontag.

If they could talk to each other, imagine the dinner party conversation they’d have.

Jane Eyre and Bronte would talk with Liebowitz and Sontag about all that has changed (and hasn’t) in women’s perceptions of themselves. Stanton would jump in and speak of particular images he took where those very perceptions were what he saw through his lens – and sometimes just the opposite. Sontag, a brilliant critic, would draw everyone’s attention to the larger themes and constructs present in all three of their texts: what we see, what we don’t see, what that says about us.

There would be no end to the things they could discuss! All the ways in which their perspectives and protagonists and photographs and prose would overlap and intertwine. This is intertextuality. You have this kind of dinner party taking place in your life all the time: texts and stories that operate in exactly the same way – overlapping and intertwined and endlessly speaking.

But let’s be honest: we work pretty hard to keep everything compartmentalized and separate. More than opposite ends of the dinner table, we often put our texts and stories in completely different rooms in the house. As example:

Your teenage years.
Your current Netflix binge.
The predominat way in which you “show up” at work.

These are not all at the table together, right? Chances are high that you are pretty determined to keep your teenage self as far away from your work self as you can. Still, let’s acknowledge, shall we, that the two are completely interconnected?

It’s possible that you are pretty sure your viewing habits on Netflix have nothing to do with your past or present. But when you apply the rules of intertextuality (even imagining such) you see they have much in common, much to discuss, and infinite overlap in the most curious and complicated of ways.

It’s possible – and probable – that things can get even more complicated (and noisy) when you add in “guests” like cultural background, family of origin, organized religion, socio-economic status, politics, any number of things that have a tendency to bump into one another at parties, at dinner tables, and certainly within.

I’m not necessarily suggesting that you try to figure out how these particular “texts” speak to one another. (OK. I am actually suggesting that…) More than the details of being a teenager, watching Netflix, and going to work, this is my point:

It is necessary and profoundly healing to see the way in which the texts and stories of your life talk to each other all the time.

Want another three to consider?

The stories you were told growing up.
The stories you tell yourself (you know: that endless chatter in your head…)
The cultural stories and messaging you injest via social media, all media, the water in which we swim every damn day.

Again, picture the dinner party: Hansel and Gretle, Cinderella, even Eve are making polite and sometimes pointed conversation with your endlessly-chattering inner critic who you know so well. That inner voice, a bit on the defensive, is being assuaged by the latest IG Influencer or targeted FB ad – sitting there in all their slick beauty and endless promise. And later, IG and FB chat away with your childhood stories; their not-so hidden agenda of either reinforcing or rejecting what you’ve believed and held on to all these years.

It’s true: intertextuality is *simply* a conceptual framework; but the stories and texts that are yours (conscious and not, known and unknown) are far more. They are real. They are active. And they shape every bit of who you have been, who you are, and who you will yet become.

Intertextuality, looked at another way, is considering – with depth, compassion, and curiosity – all that makes you who you are: the stories you are proud of and those you try to hide or wish you could evade. It offers you a way of looking at the complexity of your own life – the influences, the influencers, the pain, the joy, the harm, the hope – all of it speaking and speaking and speaking. Because at the end of the day…

You ARE your stories. And they are interacting with each other all the time, whether you take a seat at that imagined dinner table, or not.

So…why not pull up a chair?

Listen closely to your own texts, your own stories. They usher you into the wisdom and courage that is (already) yours; all that you long to experience and express.

Pay close attention to the stories you’ve been told. They help you better understand the stories you continue to tell yourself.

Determine, with great intention, the stories you will give credence to, will listen to, will allow and endorse. They create the world you live in, the one we live in together, the one that is ours to nurture and heal.

None of this is easy. And as you know, few things that are of value rarely are. You are of value, though – worthy of any and every effort on your own behalf. So this is the question to ask again and again and again:

If my stories could talk (which they can and are), what do they have to say?

(If nothing else, look at the books on your shelves. Pick a few that are sitting side-by-side, and imagine what they talk about when you’re asleep, what they have to say about you while you sleep and what they hope for you when you’re wide awake. All. So. Delicious.)

Happy 20th Birthday, Abby!

Oct 7, 2018 | Mothers and Daughters

How has the day arrived in which I no longer have teenagers? How is it that today you turn 20? I stand in disbelief, gratitude, and awe, not because 20 years have passed, but because of who you are.

This past year I have watched you do hard things, make tough choices, say goodbyes, take on more, stay longer, work harder, choose wisely, grieve silently, celebrate beautifully, live bravely, and love fiercely.

You are navigating this season of transition, change, and adjustment with grace, courage, and strength. All three are made manifest in vast and infinite measure, in potent and powerful ways. It’s breathtaking, really. You are.

Here’s what I know to be true: as you continue to demonstrate such, more and more will be yours. Grace breeds more grace. Courage breeds more courage. Strength breeds more strength. You are living, breathing evidence of such; you have been, always.

Oh, who you have become.
Oh, who you will yet be: my baby, my daughter, this woman, my heart.
Oh, how I love you.

Happy Birthday, Abby.

The God of Once Upon a Time

Mar 5, 2013 | Mothers and Daughters, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Once Upon a Time. There was a day when these four small words would instantly transport my eldest daughter to another world. Her imagination and senses would engage. And she implicitly trusted that something rich and beautiful, something of dreams and intrigue; something that touched in deep and anticipation-filled ways was on the verge. She was a child.

Now she is a teenager. She has no time for such tales. At least not those of myth, of history, of fairytale. She is steeped in story, to be sure; but now they are narratives that create pressure and leave nothing to imagination. Boys. Body image. Behavior. They broadcast nonstop.

Everything is blatant. Everything is seen. Everything is said. And a Once Upon a Time world, at least to her, feels silly, if not a waste of time.

I cried today. For her, for myself, and in remembrance of days gone by when I could hold her on my lap and make everything right. Now hard stories seem to abound. There is no fantasy for escape; no fairy godmother to wave a magic wand; no prince to rescue.

And so I pray.

*****

I have heard that God, when beckoned, shows up for some in palpable and find-a-parking-spot ways.

This is not my experience.

Sometimes talking to God feels as silly as the stories to which my daughter now rolls her eyes. God? Really? How am I to understand, to trust, to know there even is a God – who hears and understands, let alone acts on behalf of a 52-year-old mother and her 16-year-old girl? Please.

“Please?”

*****

In all good stories the plot builds. We feverishly turn the pages, longing to see what happens next. And something significant always occurs – somewhere between Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After. We lean forward in anticipation and hope (maybe even prayer), implicitly knowing and believing (maybe even having faith) that the tide is about to turn. We are rarely, if ever disappointed.

Nor am I.

The divine does show up. No magic wand or parking space. No “fix.” No miracle. Or is it?

A gentle wind blows through my mind and a sacred tale catches on the jagged edge of my heart. Grace whispers and soothes. And story returns. Once Upon a Time…

Eve longed for more, reached, and desired.
Noah’s wife, in the face of tragedy too excruciating to comprehend, survived.
Hagar was abused, abandoned, and alone…but not forgotten.
Hannah agonized over infertility and God heard her cry.
Esther took incalculable risk to save a nation.
Mary knew ecstatic joy and the depths of sorrow with her son.
The woman at the well, lost in shame, was seen and loved.
Mary Magdalene felt deep emotion, deep passion, deep love, deep heartache.

These stories and hundreds more are answered prayer for me. They hold and comfort. They accompany and guide. They lift me up. They calm me down. They bring me home – to myself and to the God who dwells within them. They remind me that I am not alone.

One could say that I find the divine in story. But truth-be-told, the divine, maybe even God, finds me.

And this is miracle, indeed. For in this infinite finding, I return to Once Upon a Time. To perspective. To wisdom. To hope. To an epic quest and heroine’s journey. Plot twists and turns. Battles lost and others won. Ball gowns and scullery rags. Heights and depths. Laughter and yes, tears.

*****

I cried a second time today. Deeply aware and profoundly grateful for a God who intimately and palpably reminds me I am not alone; who dwells in stories – others’, my daughter’s, and even my own.

Are there days when I wish for simple answers or a quick fix? Yes. Today was one of them. But given the choice, I’ll forego the God of good parking spaces Every Single Time for the God of Once Upon a Time.