There are those who are the storytellers and then those who are the storyhearers.The people I work with are the storytellers and I am the storyhearer. I hear their story and I listen to how they tell it.

The act of storytelling is a central part of who we are. Stories help make sense of our world and our place in it and we define ourselves by a story within time. We create stories; verbally, oral and written, and non-verbally, through movement/dance, visual symbols and signs/visual arts, and sound making/music. Where there is life, in any form, there is communication. But only humans tell stories.

And what is that story?

Crying from the Outside In

She dances her drawing on the paper and her strokes leave images of color. “This is what I saw when the music was playing”, she says as she continues moving along the page. “Gold, I need gold”, and she starts searching the box of pastels for just the right hue. Every once in a while she hums softly, at times with her eyes shut. She is the storyteller; her movements and breath, her softness of the humming, the brightness of her colors, the words she uses to accompany her artwork, they are all part of her storytelling.

I hear her with my ears, eyes and body. I listen to what she is telling me and herself.
When she says, “that’s all for now”, she leans back into her chair and releases her hands and arms down, resting them on her lap. After I take a breath with her in silence, I ask, “What is happening now?” As she is looking at the image she created, she says in a quiet voice, “That’s me crying from the outside in.”

Her sessions take her on her journey; she wants to move from the outside and enter the inside. Her courage outweighs her fear and so the trek begins. First, she spends time in the outside place; she chooses a hardback chair and places a drum next to her right side. As she sits rigidly upright with eyes looking straight ahead, she strikes the drum using a mallet with her right hand and allows the loud sound to vibrate before she strikes it again. When she uses her left hand, she has taken a step towards the inside. When she chooses a soft arm chair, she has taken the next step. When she chooses a hand drum and holds it with her right hand while softly fingering its surface creating the sound of raindrops, the next step. When she is on a floor mat, leaning her back and head against the wall listening with her eyes shut to the music that created her first image, places her hand against her cheek and says softly, “my cheek is wet”, she has taken that first step into the inside.

Her story of places takes place in the safe container of the therapeutic process held by the physical container of the room, held by me, and held within the pages of the images she creates, the sounds of the instruments and music. When she begins to trust the containers of the therapeutic process she can ultimately trust herself to move where she needs to go or be where she needs to be.

Her story is a work in progress; a story that needs to be told and deserves to be heard.

Image credit: Stefanus Martanto Setyo Husodo