It’s not all bad: How re-examining our histories can help us move on

I was swaying, smiling, listening to The Cure’s epic song, 'Pictures of You', play on the radio when my partner walked into the kitchen as I wistfully recalled what a key part the band played during my teenage years.

“Poor Aliya and her unhappy childhood,” my partner said, after I echoed a caller’s feedback about how the band got them through a difficult period of life. My partner's response made me question – is that the predominant story I tell, is that the impression I give, about the person I used to be, about my childhood? I’ve been with my partner Dylan now for 17 years, so he knows the wider truth of things. The comments he makes are nearly always in jest and a gentle mockery in which I participate. He too was a fellow 90s Indie kid with mental health struggles – wasn’t that all of us?

Nonetheless, it made me think about how much we have the capacity to mislead ourselves and others about our personal stories, if and when we focus more on the brokenness than the wholeness. And of course, the brokenness is part of the whole – it’s from what we heal and the way we return to our sense of inherent wholeness that ultimately shapes us, because the truth (as the Buddha knew and told) is that we all suffer. This is the nature of life – it contains multitudes: pain and joy, angst and euphoria. The practice of living is finding a way to navigate the vicissitudes and remain, for the most part, in a state of balance. And when we do fall, to know that we can get back up again – not only does stumbling not have to be a big deal, it’s just the way it is. The point is to face that, accept it, and not get stuck there.

This is the trouble and the magic with storytelling, and in the same sense, it’s the gift and the conundrum of human consciousness. We have the potential, the power, and the creative agency to touch into deeper truths, to tell different stories.

It’s all in the telling. The words we use, the thoughts that loop through our minds unchecked, the details we amplify and exaggerate that leave a certain impression, the things we leave out for fear of judgement or shame, the half-truths and the blatant lies, told for whatever reason that leave a mark.

It all starts in the mind, and it’s in the mind where we can stop the momentum of the woeful soundtrack and learn to play a different tune (or maybe listen to the dirge with less of an attachment to the melancholy; at which point I feel compelled to say that my teenager years were simultaneously some of my happiest – listening to the likes of the Stone Roses and REM while drawing and reading. Truly, it was often joyful, even in the midst of some depressive episodes. Yes reader, I was a cliché, and I’m not ashamed to admit it).

We can suffer because of the stories we tell ourselves. We can see the world through murky lenses. And/or we can tell different stories, ones that expand our view and open our minds. The way we describe our experiences can shape the way we see - and help us realise that beyond the clouds and beneath the surface misreads, there is a deeper, wider and brighter side to life. With our imagination and insight, we can conjure different worlds, different views, more expansive understandings of the truth of our full potential.

As the historic Buddha is also said to have said, “with our thoughts we make the world.” It follows that by changing our stories, we can change our minds and set ourselves free to explore the whole spectrum of life’s perfectly imperfect nature.

Life is more than the sum total of our wounding

The other fundamental teaching shared by the Buddha, that of the Four Noble Truths (suffering is a part of life, it isn’t the whole of it, there’s a way to respond and heal that leads to wellbeing, skilful living with compassion and insight is the way – in summary) is so often misquoted and misinterpreted as “life is pain/suffering” that I sometimes wonder if it’s a subconscious way of us giving up on ourselves and staying stuck in a story of woe.

We might do that for all sorts of reasons. I’ve unintentionally done it myself. I have compassion for having done so. And now I’m learning to do better with the stories I tell.

My own ancestral lineage, like everyone’s to varying degrees, contains a lot of suffering and pain. I could, and have, gotten stuck in that story, which has led me down some useful paths to truth and understanding; and to some not so helpful ones, akin to picking at scabs, piling hurt upon hurt, and fuelling more rage and discord than reconciliation. It was a necessary part of the process - acknowledging the suffering as a gateway to understanding, insight, healing and liberation from the weight of the past.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned through multiple practice modalities - contemplation, meditation, writing and somatic release - is that it’s important to unpack and unpick those stories, and then it’s important to let them go. We don’t always get to resolve everything. Past hurts won’t always get healed or reconciled. But in the present moment, the way we live our lives, the stories we tell, and the ones we leave behind, that’s what we have creative agency over. Letting go isn’t easy, but it can be done. And that’s how we heal.

Another inquiry that the Dharma practice encourages us to ask is, "what's your original face?" which might be reframed as, who are/were you before all that happened to you; or, who/what is your story when the narrative of wounding, habituation and conditioning is stripped away?

In my own inquiries, I’ve been enjoying reconnecting with my childlike sense of awe and wonder for journaling, for drawing and poetry, for playing with words and pictures essentially and letting go of the idea that any of it has to mean anything. That, I think, is my original face – the one that turns to the world with a curious mind that isn’t tainted or inhibited by my own misconceptions or projections, or those of others. Hence, it's a liberating practice. In my case, right now, that looks like rekindling my original relationship with mark-making whereby it isn't about telling stories anymore, but letting go of them and making space for freedom instead.

How about you?

What stories do you tell yourself? How true a representation are they of the whole of your history? Are they keeping you stuck or helping you heal – maybe it’s somewhere in the grey space in between?

This is something we’ll be diving into at my next online offering on Wednesday 18^th December: Change your story, change your mind. I know this is a strange time of year for many of us, in the run up to the festive holidays. But for many others, specifically the millions facing their second winter of brutality in Palestine, it’s a crucial time of year – which is why I’m offering this workshop now, as a fundraiser for my friend Haitham Juma and his family, who have been forced to endure the ongoing cruelty and relentless inhumanity of the genocide in Gaza.

As another winter forces people who have been displaced from their homes to live in tents and struggle to survive in almost impossible conditions – near starvation, freezing temperatures, escalating and inescapable violence – anything and everything we can do to show we care is a pledge of hope that Haitham, like millions of others, wishes they didn’t need but have been left with very little other option to ask for.

The suggested donation for participating is £45 though you’re welcome to pay more or less depending on your means. It’s really intended as a space where we can focus more on our individual and collective liberation, so all are welcome, no matter your circumstances.

The workshop will draw on everything I know through extensive practice, study and ongoing experience in how movement, meditation and reflective writing can help us to process, digest, assimilate and release. You can find all of the details on my website here, and register here https://bit.ly/49eDZWo.

I'd love to see you there. In the meantime and either way, may we all find freedom from whatever weighs us down, so that we can be free to be our whole healed selves. Take care, 'til next time, Aliya x