How Storytelling Heals the Soul
Everyone has a story that matters!
There is a growing movement that ascribes to the knowing that our history does not have to define our trajectory. We can move forward in life, and create our own culture. Harvard Medical school embraces the thought of healing through our own narrative. Suzanne Kovey, MD, a hospital writer in residence describes this phenomenon as:
“The storytelling is really where the medicine is,...” “There is nothing that I can think of, there is no kind of testing, there is no sort of physiology or pharmacology that is more essential to clinical skill than the ability to elicit, interpret and communicate someone else’s story.”
Being raised by a bio-physicist father, I came to understand early in life that there is a science to be studied. According to The Neuroscience of Storytelling, “By measuring the neurological activity of the body, scientists can predict how likely it is someone will perform a cooperative action, (before they even know they will), after listening to a well-crafted story.”
One of the most fond memories that I have is my grandmother telling us stories. I grew up as a first generation American, and going back to visit relatives was a rare treat. My brother, parents, and myself lived a homeland away from where our parents were raised, and the extended family remained. How would we connect with our relatives? First and foremost, we had to be able to communicate. As children, our father would only speak Greek in our home. When mom slipped with English, we would hear the firm correction, ‘speak Greek.’ We knew how to express ourselves, read, and even write our mother tongue. As children, we experienced a separation from our extended family due to a war. Five years had passed, our parents scrimping and saving to pay for a family of four to fly internationally. We arrived to find a culture of storytellers.
There were painful memories of occupation by the British in my parent’s generation. With the 1974 war, all of our family was forced to leave their homes. They left, only with the clothes on their backs, thinking the situation was temporary. The elders had grown with occupations, military presence, and were somehow callused to the presence of another conflict or war. To this day, the one regret is leaving behind photo albums. In that day, there were no cellular phones, digital media, and actually the polaroid camera was only being introduced to the world. By the time we were able to visit, our relatives had relocated to the southern part of the island in newly built refugee apartments and homes. I have no memory of what happened in the relocation process. The stories I remember were ones of hope, and faith.
I specifically remember my grandmother telling me, when I was a teenager, how she cherished her trip to Israel, the Holy Land. She shared how the mass at church was filled with candles lighting on fire simultaneously. She shared how this pilgrimage was a lifelong dream, and she felt great comfort. Even as a young adult about to enter college, I have fond memories of her stories and she spoke of the good. Healthy culture was navigated in the family ecology through her visionary example. She understood the power of a story, with threads of our history be woven into life worth living. My grandfather....well his only hope was to return to his home. To the day he died, he would not buy a phone for the new apartment, as he believed he would return to his native land. That day never came. I do believe if he could have been convinced to buy a phone, this would have been a symbol to move forward in life. This in no way would have meant a loss of hope, only a declaration that life goes on despite our loss. Isn’t this what happiness is all about? That is another story in itself.
What is Your Story? I will be sharing mine the next few posts!
Your pathway to restoration...
We weave the thread of our lives into a fabric of our story. Each piece of the garment has value. Only when we put it on do we realize its healing effects.