Last week I read an interview in The Guardian with actress Molly Ringwald that revealed she was consumed by stage fright for the first time in her career when she was about to tell a deeply personal story at live storytelling event The Moth. With no script or character to hide behind, she was out there in the open – just herself and her true story.
I’m often asked how you know whether or not a story is ready to be told and I usually answer: when it feels a little bit scary and outside your comfort zone but not overwhelming or exposing. And last week I was able to walk a mile in Molly’s shoes and test this for myself.
Late on Tuesday afternoon I was contacted by the deputy women’s editor at The Daily Telegraph and asked if I might be prepared to write a piece for the website about the breakdown of my marriage. The hook for the story was a report by a leading firm of solicitors revealing that there had been a rise in divorce proceedings initiated by men who were married to older women.
As a former colleague, she knew I had been separated from my husband – who is 22 years younger than me – for a while so perhaps I was ready to write about it. I didn’t have much time to think: the article would need to be on the website the following morning.
Up until this point I had shared the details with family and close friends but few others. I needed to heal in private. But here I was, two years on, having let go of much of the hurt and wondering if writing the article might not only be cathartic but also of service to others.
I decided to go ahead but was in a quandary about whether or not to put my name to the piece. But as I sat down to write, I realised there was nothing to be gained by hiding. And, given that I encourage others to tell their stories, I had to practise what I preach. So, inspired by the words of Maya Angelou (“There’s no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”) I condensed one of the most important relationships of my life into 850 words.
I finished it relatively quickly and pressed send, having made the decision to include not only my name but my photograph too. The piece was well received by the Telegraph and even featured on the newspaper’s home page for a while during the day of publication.
I could have left it at that, but given the very public nature of my disclosure I also posted a link to the article on Facebook, apologising for the very Daily Mail-style headline (nothing to do with me) and to anyone who might not have been aware of the breakdown of my marriage. I thought I might attract a few “likes” but what followed absolutely blew me away – comment after comment from friends and acquaintances telling me how brave I was, how honest and inspiring. Here are just a few:
Brave and touching… Beautifully written, with wit and insight… You are a brave and inspirational woman… Wonderfully written and courageous… I am in awe of your courage to share and find your open-heartedness inspirational… You wonderful woman – brave, courageous, heartfelt… An amazingly frank and heart-rending tale… You have always been brave in my eyes…
These affirmations have made it all worthwhile and proved to me that telling your story – warts and all – deepens your connection to others. Not only that, but the act of writing is healing in itself. I now feel that something private and painful has been released, and having my story witnessed has been incredibly validating. No longer do I suffer in silence.
There is a caveat here: if I had started to well up while writing the story, I would not have gone ahead with it. My motto is now “teach from your scars, not your wounds”. If I had still felt raw about it, going public would have been damaging – an act of self-attack. I feel sad about what happened, of course, but no longer wounded – and there was no bitterness or blame in what I wrote. In fact, I was praised for my dignity.
So now I know exactly what Molly Ringwald was thinking when she said: “Being able to tell my story meant that I was no longer living it… It marked the end of one part of my life and the beginning of another.”
And that, my friends, is the power of daring greatly and telling a story from your scars. Molly and I are living proof of that.
If you missed the link above, click here to read the story I wrote for the Telegraph. If you would like me to help you tell your story, contact me on info@beverleyglick.com
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