A Letter from My House of Sticks
A bit on my transition from a house of straw to one of sticks
We all know the story of The Three Little Pigs, with their houses of straw, sticks, and bricks. When we remember this story, we always think the first two pigs are fools for their apparent mistakes, as we all benefit from 20/20 hindsight. We know how the story ends, and we throw the first two pigs under the bus for their 'incompetence’ or ‘laziness.’ However, what if those two little pigs were just doing their best? How do you feel about judging them now?
We all know that history is written by the victors, so there is no doubt if one of those pigs sat down to write his memoirs, it was the one sipping brandy by his brick fireplace while his ‘parasitic’ brothers were sharing a room in the back of his brick house.
Who writes the stories of the underdogs? Where do they go? Should such fairy tales be told from other perspectives? Which Fairy Tale would you like to rewrite?
The One Little Pig
So, what if the story of The Three Little Pigs was really the story of one pig trying to work things out through adversity? That would be a much better story. In that story, the main character goes through continuous cycles of adversity and growth, learning from each downfall. Ultimately, the character transcends the adversities experienced in their youth and finds comfort in the lessons they learned. Isn’t that much nicer than a story about one smart pig with two intellectually inferior siblings?
My Life as a Pig
A few months back, a storm hit and my house of straw tumbled down around me. I found myself exposed and alone. For a while, I cast myself as one of the inferior sibling pigs, blaming the storm for my situation rather than the instability of my home. After much introspection, I see the error in that path of thought and recast myself as the One Pig. This storm was not the beginning of a story of a sad little pig constantly on the run, ruminating on the past and fearing the future, but a wiser pig who was making plans for his mansion of brick.
In March of 2022, I felt the confidence we often say is wasted on youth, and I determined I was ready to “leave the nest” of hiding my struggles with Anxiety and Depression. This was a big step for me, as such things were only shared as whispered family secrets in my childhood, and even recently, only quietly amongst the closest of friends. I realize later generations may be more open about such things, but old dogs and all…
In April, I started speaking about my struggles openly with more people as a means to help them understand some of my quirks, which may have confused them. For example, why I was absent from a social gathering (Anxiety), why I had been more quiet than usual (Depression), etc. It was frightening but freeing at the same time. It was like a leap of faith, which became a bungee jump; each time I thought I would smash face-first on the pavement, the love and acceptance of my friends pulled me back up again.
Buoyed by my face-to-face success, I decided to go ‘all in’ and share online. Opening up and being vulnerable online about my mental health struggles and my dreams of being better was frightening at first. In May 2022, during Mental Health Awareness Month, I decided to “out myself” on Facebook as struggling with Anxiety and Depression. I felt it was time to stop putting up my “director’s cut,” as everyone seems to do on social media and share my truth.
I was like the first little piggy, enjoying my newly built house of straw. The support I received on Facebook, both through comments and direct messages, felt great. My newly built house of straw was holding up. So much so that when June rolled around, and I learned it was Mens’ Mental Health Awareness Month, I decided to spend another few weeks in my freshly built and seemingly secure straw home. During that time, I built up a list of visitors and peers, people who had offered support publicly, and those who shared their stories with me privately. I am profoundly grateful to all of them for making the process of sharing one of acceptance and bonding.
Once I had finished my two-month run on Facebook and left without a hashtag to chase, I thought it was the right time to stop “flying the flag” and go back to my “normal” Facebook routine. However, a wonderful childhood friend reached out and told me to continue. To seek a wider audience and be a voice to help reduce the stigma of adult mental health issues. As an educator, it seemed the right thing to do, so in July, I consulted with a friend in the arts about which route to take. Should I work on a book, create a podcast, or submit articles online? His response was to start up a Substack, and so I did. For the first six weeks, I loved it. I found it welcoming, the community was wonderful, and I felt I was making great connections.
Sadly, while I still love it, I still find it welcoming and the community wonderful: a storm came through in September.
In mid-September, my house of straw came down upon me. An unexpected storm on a sunny day rolled in and left me standing alone and exposed, surrounded by the remnants of my comfortable house of straw, looking for a safe haven. I hid away for a while until I could finally assemble a new space pieced together from fallen branches and deadfalls. This house of sticks may not be strong enough to face another storm, but it is what I have for now.
That is why I have not been accepting visitors or sending out invitations much for the last 11 weeks. Each creak in the newly built home, each draft I feel through the gaps, reminds me of that storm in September. So, while I have a stack of invitations on the table in the form of article drafts, I have been rather timid about sending them out. That said, I get the feeling my newly built ‘house of sticks’ is nearly up to code, and I am working hard on developing the necessary masonry skills to make my house of bricks.
As the expression goes, “It’s not you, it’s me.” The storm was mine, not my readers on Substack. However, it forced me to step away for a while. I will try to get articles out of my house of sticks for now and hope to find my pace again soon.
Wishing you all the happiest of holidays in this trying time of year.
A Question for the comments
If you could rewrite one fairy tale from your childhood, which one would it be, and what is the new title?
A Takeaway Question for reflection
Which fairy tale best suits your story right now? Who are you cast as? Do you want the story to play out the way it was written, or do you want to take creative liberties and rewrite the ending? What’s stopping you?
Sending lots of support. Putting ourselves out there in this public forum is a strange thing in the way that it not only invites comment on our lives but also distorts time ... Us humans need time to process and integrate, to write our stories and revise them and sit with them. But the internet world moves quickly and so sometimes there's a disconnect between what's happening in the experience and what's happening in the sharing of that experience. Do what's right for you. Always.