The first time I told my story,
I felt only pain.
“How could this have happened to me?” I asked.
The second time I told my story,
I felt only sorrow.
“How could this have come to be?” I pondered.
The third time I told my story,
I felt only anger.
"How could life be so cruel and unjust to me?" I wondered.
The fourth time I told my story,
I felt only heartbreak.
“How could life have taken what I love from me?” I mused.
The fifth time I told my story,
I felt only confusion.
“How did all of this make sense for me and my life?” I reflected.
The sixth time I told my story,
I felt only insignificance.
“Maybe my life and who I am lack meaning.” I thought to myself.
The seventh time I told my story,
to my surprise,
I heard a voice within,
“I am your story.
But you cannot truly tell me yet,
for you have not seen the ending.
You have not yet seen
all that will be made possible
through all that you have previously seen, learned, become and achieved,
and you have not yet seen
how your story
will one day go on to inspire
and so too will their stories inspire others
in a way far bigger than you yourself could ever comprehend or imagine. For your story is not yours alone, but is an inherent part of life's story.
But this will not be possible
should you remain fixated
on what has happened
rather than what is still unfolding,
and so do not let the chapters of the past
distract you from the chapters that are yet to be written.
And the eighth and final time I told my story,
it was no longer a story
but had been alchemized into wisdom, healing and beauty.
For my story was no longer one of words,
but had become a part of me.
Words by Tahlia Hunter
Artwork by Catrin Welz-Stein