My Story

I tell my kids all the time that they can't control what others do and say, only how they react to it.

When someone says mean words or treats me poorly (whether meaning to or not), I get to choose how to react. I get to choose whether I let those words seep into my soul, affecting my entire day, week, month or whether those words bounce off of me. I get to choose whether those words become part of my story or not.

When someone hurts me, either physically, emotionally, or mentally, I get to choose. It's up to me how I react. Do I let it colour my day, my life, infecting myself and, consequently, how I treat others? Or do I tell myself that, yes, it hurt, but I am bigger and will not let it hurt me more by passing it on to someone else?

It is hard.

So hard.

Someone said to me once that this lets the other person get away with whatever they have done. That it doesn't "punish" them for their wrongdoing.

But that's so far from the truth.

Just because I refuse to allow someone's actions and words to become a negative part of my story, doesn't mean that they "get away with it." Of course it doesn't.

Their story is their story.

My story is MY story.

I write it.

I decide what and who gets to become part of it.

I don't always get to decide the plot. I don't always get to decide the twists and turns and direction my story goes. Sometimes I am not happy with the events of my story. Sometimes they hurt and feel like my story is ending, or that it should end. Sometimes I don't want to continue my story. Sometimes I want to close the book. But even fairy tales have conflicts and fighting and scary parts.

I do get to decide who becomes a part of it. I do get to decide the characters that help to advance my story. I do get to decide who stays and who goes. I do get to decide who affects my decisions and who stays in my heart.

It is my story after all.

What does this mean in "real life"?

It means that I get to decide the weight that words leave in my story. Are they words that simply pass me by like a speeding train that's off to another station in another story? Or are they words that are etched into the fabric of my soul the way that rivers have carved out the valleys among the mountains?

It is my choice.

My choice.

My story.

Your story?

Your choice.

We are the authors of our own stories.