The Stories We Don't Tell
And why we need to hear them
For those of us who are at all engaged on social media, it is common knowledge that we only see part of people’s stories when we see their posts. Too often, I think, this is seen as a facade. While I dislike artifice, I think it is right and fitting that some of people’s personal lives be kept, well, personal.
There are many reasons, of course, to keep some part of our life stories private. Perhaps we are involved in a story that is not primarily our story to tell, but the story of our children, spouse, relatives, or friends. Maybe it is a story that is only half written and the outcome would be harmed by sharing. Then, there are things that are so intensely personal that we aren’t going to share with them with the entirety of the internet.
A level of trust and relationship is often needed to share the really difficult parts of our stories.
There are times when something personal is something we eventually decide to share. I think of my three miscarriages that occurred in between the birth of my now-preteen boys and my three younger girls. I knew other people had miscarriages, but no one had ever really spoken to me about their loss. But it just so happened, in the midst of my confusion and sorrow, the first person outside of family I told had also had a miscarriage. Her understanding and empathy made a tremendous difference in my healing. Though I don’t know that I could ever convey the many feelings and experiences related to those losses, I decided I wanted to be that person that my friend was to me. So I shared when appropriate. And it really has ended up being a gift to - to me, and I hope occasionally to the people I share with.
Yet, not everyone feels compelled to share publicly (see above reasons - completely legitimate) and even when we do, its usually after the fact. For many of us, the pain that we experience from any variety of intense things - a frightening diagnosis, a crumbling marriage, mental illness in ourselves or others, financial ruin, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. - also feels isolating, because we aren’t going to broadcast about it on social media and we aren’t sure that anyone would understand if we did.
I was reflecting on this experience of isolation in suffering and reflecting on what has helped during these times. The primary one shouldn’t come as any surprise and yet I find myself needing this reminder in the digital age: real-life community. The people I ‘do life with’ are the people who I’ve walked alongside with during the challenges that they’ve faced. I cried with them, worried with them, and prayed for them. They’ve done the same for me. Props to many of my family members (hopefully you know who you are!). The family tapestry becomes such an intricate pattern of joys, sorrows, hopes, and disappointments that we have worked through together. Whatever my current struggle is at the moment isn’t often identical to one a family member has faced, but chances are, I know the right sister, parent, or aunt to call, because I know they understand.
I know not everyone has those sort of family connections. I have also found a similar community in the friendships I have nurtured over the years. We have the stomach flu this week (not the same level of heartache I’m generally talking about…but still) and these are the friends who brought by Gatorade, checked in on me, and commiserated with me about getting thrown up so many times. They are also the people I’ve learned how to parent toddlers with, and school-age kids, and now adolescents. We’ve vacationed together, read together, gone for a much needed “walk and talk” session during various crises and I am so much the richer for it. They are worth every effort I’ve made and every time I’ve ignored the call of social media for the richness that comes from real life friendships.
The other place I’ve found solace and understanding is not real life. Instead, its in fiction. I’m in the midst of a reread of (the very lengthy) The Father’s Tale, by Michael O’Brien. The story follows the epic journey of a Canadian man who has never really left his small town. But he is worried about his adult son, who is seemingly lost and in danger. His search takes him out of Canada to England and eventually to Russia. It is long, hard, hopeful, disappointing, instructive, depressing, spiritual, heartening and disheartening at different points. I know how this father feels. His struggle is not my struggle precisely, but there is a truth in this fictional work that I can read and say “this is my story too”.
This element is most certainly one of the keystones of enduring literature. Whether its Anne of Green Gables feeling unwanted or Crime and Punishment’s Raskolnikov being utterly divided within himself, they get us. They are us, or they are our child, or our friend. There is a freedom in literature that we don’t or can’t always get from mere acquaintances or social media.
It is my friendships and my rich reading life that fill my cup when it needs filling.
Believe it or not, this is not a Substack denigrating social media - I truly believe it has its uses, but ‘suffering alongside’ just isn’t one of them.
What do you think? Are there other major places you’ve gained understanding, wisdom, or compassion while suffering?
In brief other updates:
I’m speaking for the first time at the Catholic Writers Guild’s annual online conference in a few weeks. This conference has been a staple for me the last 5 years or so as I’ve dug more into my writing. I highly recommend it if you’re interested in jumpstarting a writing life.
I got to see a preview of the art for my children’s book this summer! (Any fans of Edith Stein out there?) Way to improve a week of the stomach flu (Day 7 for my poor toddler).
I’m overdue for a post to dork out over my travel plans, so look out. Mexico City coming up soon with just my husband and then lots of planning going into a family trip out West this summer.