What stories are shaping your life?

Who we are and who we are becoming is directly connected to the stories we tell ourselves and the stories we take in—whether through news, movies, books, or conversations shared with friends over coffee.

I am currently smitten with Survival of the Thickest, a TV series based on Michelle Buteau’s memoir.

The main character, Mavis Beaumont, is a 2X-sized Black woman living and working in New York. She’s a stylist with two best friends, Khalil and Marley, who she can talk to about anything and share any problem with.

Survival of the Thickest is storytelling medicine.

In one of my favorite episodes, Mavis designs an alternative prom for kids who get dissed and dismissed in their high schools. Mavis has a vision to make sure “plus-size baddies”—male, female, trans—are respected, treated like treasures by high fashion, able to delight in the clothing they wear so they feel absolutely, delectably beautiful.

Where was Mavis when I was 14?

Redefining who is beautiful, who gets to wear beautiful clothes, who gets to believe they are beautiful—that’s a story that goes right to the core of my 14-year-old self standing in Sears and Roebuck dressing rooms, trying on pants. My strong, curvy thighs and backside were always too big for the limited available sizes, which 40-plus years ago didn’t come in curve-positive variety.

Survival of the Thickest reveres and celebrates the many shades of Blackness, as well as many aspects of fatness. And it challenges the harmful stories we tell ourselves, like when Mavis catches her live-in boyfriend cheating and starts blaming herself: “If only I weren’t so big…”

A story is a curse when it’s full of shoulds.

After a recent leg injury, I berated myself with shoulds, rage burning my stomach as I repeated, “I shouldn’t have taken that walk. I should have been paying more attention. I should have been exercising more, building muscle so I could have caught myself.”

Nor were my shoulds limited to my flawed body. My barrage continued: “That physical therapist should have done an MRI right away, not just an ultrasound. They should have known the injury might require surgery . . .”

Stories based in shoulds keep us stuck in a losing narrative, trapped in a web of blame and shame. 

When I shared my story with a bodyworker friend of mine, she took my story and turned it around. 

“What an amazing body you have,” she said, “to have never needed a surgery. You and I are the same age, and I have had 5 major surgeries. Two of them hip replacements.” As she provided unflinching detail of her surgeries, she shrugged saying, “yes, it was scary, it was intense, but I’m glad I did it, otherwise I would not be able to walk.”

Blame is a trap, she said. The question is not what should I have done, the question is what do I do now? What are my options now? 

As her words soaked into me, the burn cooled. I could feel new options, new possibilities.

I remember another “what do I do now” story.

When I was 12, I heard Rubin “Hurricane” Carter interviewed after spending almost 20 years of his life wrongfully imprisoned. After years of battling the wrongful conviction, he was finally free. When asked if he was bitter, he replied, “Bitterness corrodes the vessel that holds it.”

Hearing his words showed me that we Black people, so mistreated, maligned, and murdered, have the power of alchemy. To take what has happened to us and turn it into something life-giving.

Glory Edim, creator of the Well-Read Black Girl community has written a memoir called Gather Me. She tells stories of how the books she’s read since childhood helped her understand how to do more than just survive difficult situations. Stories helped her interrogate and navigate troubling times so as to find joy and self-ownership. 

Stories shape us, give us reference points and help us make new meanings that challenge the ones we inherited.

What stories are you telling yourself right now? Are they medicine or poison? Are they lifting you up or keeping you stuck in cycles of self-doubt and “should have” shame spirals? 

Stories have the power to transform us.

Stories can help us see new possibilities for who we might become, or they can trap us in old patterns that no longer serve us.

When you catch yourself in a “should” story—when you hear that inner critic saying you’re not enough, not ready, not qualified—remember that you have the power to choose a different narrative. 

What stories do you want to invite into your life and which ones do you need to release?