EVERYONE HAS A STORY

Carly wishes she could stop her hands trembling as she opens the brochure and reads the title of the workshop: “Everyone Has a Story”.   

She’d never have chosen to do something like this; there’s a knot in her stomach at the thought of taking part in a workshop of any kind, with a bunch of strangers.  After all, what is there about her life that’s even remotely interesting?  Why would there be anything about her that others would want to hear?  

Now, staring at the brochure, she has to fight back tears, as she reads that it’s cost $400.  So how do you tell your friends that you just don’t want to do it when they’ve been so generous?  When they’ve pooled their money to give you this thirtieth birthday gift that they obviously think is wonderful.

They know how shy I am.  Why didn’t they get me a voucher? Or...maybe tickets to the theatre...a pair of shoes...anything but this. 

            In fact, if Carly were able to let such a feeling into her conscious awareness, she might acknowledge she’s annoyed they’ve put her in a position like this.  But she’s much too polite to ever own any vestige of anger.  Instead, she’s overcome with a burning sensation that floods her body, which – if she were able to name it – is symptomatic of her overwhelming sense of inadequacy.   Partnered with a semblance of shame that she’s so terrified of this workshop that her friends find exciting.

She’s not usually a drinker, but she suddenly craves a glass of something strong to quell the weakness that swamps her.  Her limbs have gone limp, and she moves to a chair to sit down as she speaks.  ‘Thanks, all of you.’  Her voice comes out in almost a whisper;  it’s that little girl voice that she hates in herself.   If only she could have responded with some degree of enthusiasm.  ‘It’s just that...I...I don’t know if Tom will let me go,’ she tells them.

‘What do you mean he won’t let you go?’  Evie’s eyes open wide.

‘He...um...he doesn’t really like me to go anywhere without him.’

It’s not really just about Tom.

Bella’s laughing.  ‘You’re kidding, right?  With all the times he goes away on his trips, and his meetings.  Not to mention his golf weekends.  He can’t possibly not let you go.’

You just don’t know what it’s like.  He won’t tell me I can’t go.   But he’ll go all quiet, and cross with me. .

Mardi moves towards her to embrace her.  ‘You really don’t need his permission, Carly.  You’re his wife, not his child!’

Please don’t come too close.  I don’t want you to feel how I’m shaking.

But her friend’s arms are around her, hugging her tight.  ‘Bella did this course last year.  You’ll love it!’

Really?  What on earth will I love about i?.  It feels more like torture.

The excitement in Mardi’s eyes is echoed in the faces of Bella, Amelie and Evie.  They obviously believe they’ve given her something special.

God, I’m such an ungrateful sod.  They’ve spent all this money on me.

‘You’re going to get so much out of the weekend,’ says Evie.  

Carly’s left eye has started to twitch.  That always happens when she's nervous.  And right now, she’s trying to imagine fronting up to that workshop, which is less than a week away.  And she’s going to have to tell Tom she’s going.  Her heart’s racing.  She can hardly reject her friends’ generosity.  But she’s going to have to either let them down or endure her husband’s punitive withdrawal.  Or his sarcasm.

She tries to swallow, but her throat is constricted.  She takes a couple of deep breaths, then manages to get the words out.  ‘Thanks.  But I think I need to go. home now  I don’t feel too good.’

They offer to drive her home, but she assures them she can manage.  

I just need to be on my own.

The four friends each hug Carly before she starts to edge her way towards the front door.

‘Call us when you get home from the weekend,’ says Evie.

‘Can’t wait to hear about the workshop,’ says Mardi.

Carly takes a couple more deep breaths before she finally hears the front door of Mardi’s apartment close behind her.

~~

Carly’s survived the first of her ordeals.  Telling Tom.  Thankfully it was made easier for her; when he walked in from work last night he’d declared that he had plans the following weekend.  

            ‘I need to go up to Sydney for a few days next Friday.  I’ll be back maybe Sunday, maybe Monday.  Depends on whether I rush things through or make it a bit of an R & R.  Take in a round of golf.’

‘Well...as a matter of fact I’m going to be away myself,’ she’d responded.

Tom’s cheeks reddened.  ‘What do you mean?  Where might you be going?’

‘I’m going to be doing a workshop.’

‘Are you now?’  His jaw drew tight as he asked the question.

You can hardly object when you’ve just told me you’re going away.  And not all work.  You’re including some “Tom” time in there, too.

‘Would’ve been nice if you’d consulted me first.’  His voice was frosty.

Like you consulted me?  

‘What’s the workshop about?  Hope it’s not one of those warm and fuzzy bits of nonsense.’

‘It’s called “Everyone Has a Story”.’

‘Ha.  Can’t say I’d want to be a fly on the wall there,’ he sneered.

Carly didn’t answer, but she rubbed her temples, trying to ease the tension that had developed.

‘And how much is that going to cost?’

‘It’s...it’s not going to cost you anything.  The girls have given it to me as a birthday present.’

Tom’s jaw tightened even more.  ‘Did they win Tattslotto or something?  Wouldn’t have thought that bunch would want to throw their money away like that.’

He didn’t talk to her for the rest of the evening.  

~~

It’s Friday, just before six o’clock when Carly arrives at the workshop venue.  Registration’s not until seven, but she hadn’t wanted to risk walking in late.  She could go inside now, but decides to wait in the car.  Maybe she can relax first.  She practises counting her breaths as she inhales and exhales – someone told her that can help with nerves - then sits with her eyes closed for a few minutes.  Diana Krall and Michael Buble are singing “Alone Again” on the radio, and she wipes away a tear that’s appeared for some reason.

The sun’s almost ready to hand over to the evening. She looks around, taking in her surroundings. The well-manicured lawns, six glorious autumn-red Japanese maples, and garden beds filled with multi-hued flowers all delight Carly.  She’s breathing easier now.

Lights are already on inside the white homely-looking building.  The curtains are not yet drawn, and she can see the front room’s pastel-coloured, comfortable-looking couches and armchairs.  She takes a few deep breaths, checks the time, and walks haltingly inside.  

There’s a table set up in the front hall.  A short, grey-haired woman with a round face and a gap between her front teeth greets her with a smile.

‘Here for the workshop, are you?  Nice and early.’

Carly nods, and introduces herself.

‘Welcome Carly.  I’m  Sue.  First time here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well I hope you’re going to enjoy this weekend.’

Sue’s voice is affable.  She searches for Carly’s name tag, and hands it to her, and points her in the direction of her room.  ‘There’s tea and coffee in there, and I’ve turned the heater on for you, so you should be warm.  The group will be meeting at eight tonight in the lounge room opposite us here.’

She smiles again.

Carly’s breathing has almost returned to normal now  There’s even a touch of excitement.  Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

~~

It’s time!  Carly’s heartbeat has become more rapid again as she enters the lounge.  She’d meant to ask Sue how many participants there were going to be, but she’ll find out soon enough.  

         There’s no one else here yet.  She takes a seat in one of the chairs which have been arranged in a circle, and does a quick count.  Eleven chairs.  Her mouth’s gone dry, and she’s sucking the inside of her mouth.   

‘Hello.  I’m Greg.’

Carly jumps.  She hadn’t heard the man enter.  She introduces herself, and he sits next to her.  His face is lined and serious.  She guesses he’d be about ten years older than her.  He sits quietly, offering no further conversation, his hand over his eyes.  Carly wonders if he’s  nervous too.

Gradually the seats are filled, some people engaging immediately in conversation, others silent, like Greg.  They’re a cross section in terms of age, with four men and six women.

Right on eight, Brian enters, an engaging smile on his face.  He’s tall, with wrinkled skin and blue eyes.  Not handsome in the traditional sense, but there’s something attractive about him, nevertheless.  Medium length hair, greying at the temples.  Probably about sixty, Carly supposes.  Dressed casually in jeans, checked shirt and a mid-green jacket. He sits in the one remaining chair.

There’s a name exchange around the circle, and now Carly’s stomach suddenly goes into knots.  A moment of panic!

What the hell am I doing here?  

She gazes at the door, as if reassuring herself there’s an escape hatch.  She glances at Brian, who’s looking in her direction. 

 He starts talking, welcoming them all.  His voice is deep.  Soft but clear.  Reassuring.  ‘Some of you might be nervous.  That’s normal.  You’re about to spend time sharing bits of your lives, of yourselves, with a bunch of strangers.  What I can promise you is that by the end of the weekend you’ll no longer feel like strangers, but more of a friendly close-knit group.  We won’t have a lot of rules to follow, but I’m going to suggest two: firstly, you don’t have to speak unless you want to.’

Carly exhales a sigh of relief.  Glancing around, she senses she might not have been the only one to feel better to hear this.

‘And secondly, try not to interrupt when someone else is speaking.  It feels like we’re not being heard if someone cuts across us.  And it’s important to feel heard.  But we have all weekend, so there’ll be plenty of time for everyone to have the space they need.’

He glances around the group again, meeting each one of their eyes.  ‘So, all good?’

There’s a chorus of “yes” and nods.  

‘”Everyone Has a Story”.  It’s a big topic.  Who among you had the feeling or even fear that you don’t have a story that would be important or of any interest to anyone else?’

Carly nods, relieved again to hear him say that.  She raises her hand.

Brian runs his eyes around the circle.  ‘Only half of you.  I’ve known as many as eight in a group who’ve felt like that.’  He pauses.  ‘But you’re all here, nevertheless.  And each one of you has a lifetime of interesting stories.  I think the fear you might feel is because you think your stories have to be extraordinary.’  He pauses.  ‘Is that resonating with any of you?’ 

There’s a chorus of affirmation.

 ‘Whereas in fact, most of our stories are more likely to be ordinary, regular slices of life.  Telling yourself your stories aren’t important enough to share is another way of saying you think you aren’t important.’  He glances at each member of the group.  ‘So one of the givens here in this group is that your stories are all important.’  Another pause. 

There’s a lightness in Carly’s chest now; she unexpectedly finds herself smiling.

He gets it.  This is actually feeling okay.

‘And what you’ll probably find as we move through the weekend is that some of your stories will be quite unique, quite different from other peoples’ stories.  But at other times you’ll feel the words coming out of someone else’s mouth could just as easily have come out of your own.  We’re all so different - and we’re all so alike. So sit back, and get ready for a little voyage into both the similarities and the differences.’  

Carly’s fingers are tingling.  There’s an embryonic buzz of excitement now.  A curiosity about what might emerge.  

But a moment later, she starts to search for a specific topic.  What might she tell these strangers?  It’s as if she’s lost in a labyrinth again.   

Brian’s voice cuts across her fears.  ‘I imagine some of you may have some things you’re bursting to share.  But I suspect others are fearful about where the hell to begin.  That’s all normal.’  His eyes scan the circle again.  ‘So just for a minute or two, speak to the person on your left about which of these groups you fit into.  Don’t try to tell your story at all, just talk to each other about whether you’re an eager beaver, or if you’re wondering what on earth to talk about.’  

There’s a buzz of voices as people share their responses.

Brian brings them back to the group focus.  ‘So now let’s get the ball rolling with a visualisation,’ he says.  He gradually guides them into a state of relaxation.  His calming voice then suggests that each of them, without forcing it, allow an image of an animal to emerge that represents how they see themselves.  

Carly initially doubts she’ll be able fulfil the task,  However, in spite of her apprehension, she sinks into a pleasantly relaxed state, and soon an unexpected image appears in her mind’s eye.

As people bring themselves back into the circle, Brian invites them to share their experiences with others.  Carly surprises herself: she find herself raising a hand to speak.  ‘I didn’t expect anything at all.  And then I got an image of a black panther.  It doesn’t feel like it fits.  I think I’m just a pussy cat.’

‘How are you a pussy cat?’

‘I’m shy.  I’m timid.’

‘Can you give me an example of the timid pussy cat?’ asks Brian.

‘I was scared to come here.  And I was scared to tell my husband my friends had given me this as a gift and I’d be attending.’

‘You were scared to come here because...’

‘Like you said, I didn’t think I had a story worth telling;’

‘Compared to who?’ says Brian.

‘To all the people that I think have more interesting lives than me.’

‘Or are more important than you?’ asks Brian.

Carly nods.  

‘I suspect others will be feeling this too.,’ says Brian.  But it’s damaging to compare ourselves with other real or imaginary others who we believe are somehow “better’ than us.  It’s like we’re aiming for perfection.  But we need to accept ourselves just as we are.  Perfectly imperfect.  To accept it’s okay to just be another peanut in the jar.’

There’s a burst of laughter when Brian says this.  

‘I think others share your fears, Carly.  We sometimes are afraid to try something in case we fall short or fail altogether.  But it’s okay to fail sometimes.  It’s how we learn.  You know, if a thing is worth doing it’s worth doing badly.’

More laughter.  

‘You’re laughing, but that’s very hard for perfectionists to accept.’

Then he addresses Carly again.  ‘Tell me about the timid pussy cat with your husband.  What were you afraid of when you didn’t want to tell him about this weekend?’

‘I was afraid he’d be angry.’

‘What happens when he’s angry?’

‘He doesn’t talk to me.’

‘He punishes you.  He’s passive aggressive.’

‘Yes.  That’s it.  Exactly.’ 

‘And if he’s angry... upset...or whatever he feels.  Can you let him just have his reaction without you feeling like you’ve got to change that?’

Carly’s mouth drops open.  ‘I’ve never thought of that before.  You’re saying...you’re saying I need to just let him feel angry.’

‘Yeah.  If he chooses. It’s his anger.  You don’t need to take that on board.  It’s about a boundary between what belongs with him and what belongs with you.  You hand over your power to him if you don’t keep those boundaries firm.’

Carly sits still and quiet.  Her mind is busy, processing what she’s just heard.  

‘I hand my power over to him.  Yes, I think I can see how I do that.’

‘And you don’t want to keep doing that.’

She shakes her head.  ‘No.’

After a short silence Brian continues.  ‘And you know, it’s okay to be both the pussy cat and the black panther too.  They’re both part of you.  A pussy cat can be many things: sometimes it’s timid.  Or it can be independent, too.  And the black panther...that’s also you.  It’s probably the part of you that brings you here this weekend.  We might call it your inner strength.  Or your determination.  The part that takes back your power.  Or whatever it comes to mean for you.  It’s real.  You’ve owned it today.  Own the black panther.  Own the pussy cat too.  They’re both you.’

Carly’s body is buzzing now.  She feels a shift within her that amazes her.  She looks at Brian, who smiles at her.

‘So...you okay with that?  If we move on for now?’

Carly nods.  

‘Thank you, Carly, for giving us your story.  The story you thought you didn’t have.  Or that wasn’t worth telling.  This is just one.  I know there’ll be more stories you’ll be sharing with us this weekend.  And you can tell from the group’s reactions that your narrative has resonated with several others.  Thanks for letting us know more about you.’

‘And thank you,’ says Carly.’   

Her body is warm and relaxed.  Because something in her has shifted.  It’s embryonic.  But it’s profound, because it’s like a door to a new room has been unlocked.

Now, as Brian responds to Greg’s raised hand, Carly smiles.  She can’t wait to share more of her stories.