Becoming Restoried Reflections
#14 | Revisiting
Among Becoming Restoried’s collection of nifty phrases that begin with the letter “R,” one word that has been especially present throughout the past few weeks is “revisit” — a theme of our community calls alongside personal stories I’ve been reconnecting with.
As a group, we’ve spent some time revisiting — both relistening to and retelling — the depth and abundance of The Handless Maiden, The Lindworm, and The Half Girl. In this process, I caught myself feeling resistance. Similarly, my initial reaction to re-reading a book is that it’s unproductive and a waste of time. This couldn’t be further from the truth.
Revisiting a story or experience is equally as infused, fertile, and captivating as it was the first time, just in a fresh way. We likely notice newborn details, and Michael always shares words along the lines of, “We absorb stories as we are.” Of course, this means that each time we encounter the same spine of a story, we will craft, soak up, digest, and integrate its flesh differently.
Looking again (revisiting) is uncomfortable because we know this. We know we will encounter a deeper part of the story, reflecting a deeper part of ourselves. And that’s hard.
Venturing into these myths again added neon trail markers along a path of stories I’ve long needed to revisit. This is the 14th blog post in the series. 2014 was the first year I played for Team Canada. #14 was the number I wore at Stanford. Ah, the mysterious siren of trios. Into the dark forest, I go.
A few days ago, I practiced an intense breathwork pattern with my therapist. I’m a rookie when it comes to more activating breathing, so I didn’t know what to expect. Through the lens of my body (rather than writing/speech, which I’ve always been more comfortable with), I revisited a precise time and place. I could feel the aching, gnawing, and cramping that my body had accumulated since — in my hands, heart space, chest cavity, lungs, and stomach. It was the most viscerally validating experience I’d ever had, and yet, I didn’t want to remove the congruent story from the ‘good’ box I’d duct-taped it into. I didn’t want to admit that there was pain present in it when, clearly, it was clawing for recognition. Why? Interestingly, this story is one I can walk to in 15 minutes.
That afternoon, my basketball and I went for a walk to the outdoor court at Ferndale Woods Elementary School — the same court where I first learned to play, and where my city’s newspaper interviewed and photographed me in 2014. I was 16, and I had just finished my first season with Team Canada (the article & photos are here and I’m cringing so hard).
I took a few shots, and within minutes, my cheeks were steeped in tears. But I didn’t stop shooting, because the ball in my hands was the same one in those photos — the same one I used to train with.
My mind coasted to the next 14 in this triad — my time wearing it in university.
I’ve looked at my per-game career stats on ESPN more times than I care to share, admittedly with contempt, shame, and embarrassment:
I’m not 100% sure how accurate these numbers are because I hardly played, but I know they’re close.
The canyon between these two stories seemed uncrossable. For a moment, I couldn’t comprehend how they could both be true for the same person, which is exactly why I shut them out: I see two different people, polarizingly labelled a success and a failure, respectively. I also don’t see these two people as me.
Though we tend to categorize them this way for comfort, no stories or myths are ever wholly positive or negative. And that’s how I’ve come to the third 14 — this blog post — which has merged these two stories into the same space, together as equals, not opposites. If these blog posts are any one thing, they are revisitings. And that’s where magic happens.
Revisiting #1: Beneath quality performances and a whole lot of effervescence, I cried in the shower nearly every night during Team Canada tryouts, training camp, and competition in 2014, deep in the trenches of depression and OCD with no language for them. I performed because I felt I had no choice.
Revisiting #2: Some of my most joyful memories took place while wearing #14, because even though I endured the sharpest pain of my life, I also faced its presence for the first time, allowing my hurt to be witnessed and bathed in love. I could no longer use performance as a crutch, and that saved my life.
Revisiting #3: I’ve healed since living these stories, and am a changed person revisiting them. I see a brave, resilient teenager in the deep end of uncertainty. I see a very young adult who still had a stat line despite everything that would have warranted her walking away. I see me.
Though the perimeter of trees is taller and the court feels a bit smaller, it still has the same haphazardly painted key and three-point line, bent rims from missed dunks, and pavement-stained mesh. The skeleton is the same — vinegary pre-teen B.O., the hum of gossip, cars braking to greet school-zone speed limits, greasy purple playground equipment, chipped benches, and a girl with a sweaty basketball. But I wasn’t there to see the bone pillars of a place, I was there to see if I could recognize myself in its canvas — if the blood of the past still pumps beneath my skin now. We have to believe that it does, but we can always be curious about what flesh, muscles, and organs it lights up each time we choose to revisit anywhere we’ve already been. That’s often the most productive and proactive thing we can do. That’s worth as much time and energy as we can afford.
Thank you so much for reading. :)
You can take Becoming Restoried’s What Story Are You Living assessment, or join one of their ongoing free virtual workshops.