The Stories We Make Up

In her greatly acclaimed nonfiction books Daring Greatly and Rising Strong, Brene Brown discusses a phenomenon of which we are all guilty of doing. When the behavior or words of someone with whom we interact confuses or troubles us, we make up a story in our heads to explain it. This story is our version of the situation, and it is formed around our mindset and vulnerabilities. Quite often, the stories we make up are well off the mark.

A month ago, I made the usual biweekly phone call to my birth mom. From our ten-year history of getting to know one another (my memoir, Twice a Daughter, details how I came to have her in my life), I know that she does not always pick up the phone. She is frail and slow to get up, and like me, she is a widow. Some days, we just lack the energy to talk to one more person. I get that, but days slipped into weeks with still no response from her.

When my birth mother, my twin sister, and I first connected, our reunion was like a new romance. We talked often. The three of us couldn’t get enough of one another. We marveled at synchronicities, likenesses, and similar life experiences. Back in those early years of reunion, if my call went to voicemail, my birth mom called me back before the day was done. This thrilled me. I had finally established a bond with the woman I had wondered about my entire life, and she made me feel as if I mattered to her. Our consistent contact eased the feelings of rejection I’d harbored for five decades, something that all adoptees face due to severing of parental bonds.

Once the relationship with my birth mom passed out of the “honeymoon” phase, sometimes a week might go by before she’d return a call. During those times, I would wonder: What had I said to tick her off? Was there something I should have done and didn’t? Was her husband sick? And then out of the blue, she would call. Not once did I confront her about what had made her life so busy that I was relegated to second place. But each time one of these puzzling moments happened, I rode the roller coaster of expectation, let down, hurt, and relief. And each time, I made up a whole lot of stories in my head about of why I became second fiddle.

Back to the phone call I made to my birth mom a month ago…

I got busy. Hurricane Ian made its slow course to Florida. I worried about my family in Sarasota, and the house I’d moved into a year ago on Bird Key. Why hadn’t my birth mom called to check in on me. Hmm… I wondered. Did she get my message? Did she forget? Lose my phone number? She is approaching ninety after all, I reasoned. Those were the stories I made up in my head. 

I left another voicemail. And then I returned to Florida to deal with the wake of Hurricane Ian. Amidst that mayhem, I decided to clean out my late husband’s closet (read my post about that, here). As a result, my birth mom and the unreturned phone calls got lost at the bottom of a lengthy worry list.

A few days ago, the phone rang…

It was my birth mom. She’d just been released from the hospital after a fall in the bathroom. She’d broken her right arm so badly that it was cast from shoulder to wrist. All the stories I’d made up about her forgetting my phone number, not caring enough to prioritize me, being too depressed about the death of her spouse, all grossly inaccurate. 

Brene Brown and her research surrounding “the stories we make up” is fascinating and liberating to those of us who like to torture ourselves with guilt and anxiety. Brown points out that our lived experiences often serve to amplify basic insecurities and vulnerabilities. As a result, we develop constructs and coping strategies to explain away people’s behavior. We can avoid unnecessary hurt by acknowledging what we are doing: making up stories in our head. 

To eliminate this useless step in building relationships, we need to be brave, forthright with others, and ask tough questions like: what did you mean by that? and then follow that up by sharing how their behavior made you feel. Communicating means connection is possible. 

Next time, I don’t hear back from my birth mother right away, I’ve resolved to contact my biological aunt, my birth mom’s sister. Querying her about my birth mother’s whereabouts, health and safety, will save my ego from some unnecessary angst. It will also free up my brain to work on worthy projects, like my next book (due out Spring 2024).

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