When did you become the keeper of your own history?
Little by little, I’ve become the keeper of my history.
It’s weird.
When I was little, my parents did this for me.
But at some point I became a grownup.
And grownups, I guess, keep their own histories.
Last year, my mother gave me the last bin of my treasures I had stored in her attic.
It contained three years’ of high school yearbooks, a stack of newspapers from the 90s with either an article by or about me, some photos, and assorted figurines and creepy dolls that I remember owning but not getting.
And while I enjoyed being reunited with these yearbooks which I honestly thought I left in my old college apartment when I graduated, I had this sense of weight.
I am the keeper of my children’s history.
I’m not sure I want to be the keeper of my own.
It’s heavy.
I’ve always enjoyed knowing there was someone helping me carry this heaviness.
But yesterday when I was visiting my family to finally celebrate Christmas, my mother presented me with some more treasures:
My childhood dolls.
The Amanda doll in the green dress and hat is one I remember getting and loving. I was so tickled that she had my name embroidered across her apron.
The other doll was familiar to me, but I can’t recall any name she would have had. Maybe “Dolly” or “Baby Doll”. My mother tells me that it was my first doll. And you can tell that she was clearly very loved. And while I don’t remember playing with her, I distinctly remember having the barrette I placed in her hair, and that this soft doll had a plastic nose.
My mother, knowing I’d want these someday, has kept them for me for the last 30 years or so.
Being reunited with these pieces of my past stirs up all kinds of stuff - joy, nostalgia, curiosity, even a bit of sadness.
Because with every piece of my history that comes into my possession, the more responsibility I have over myself.
I’m no stranger to responsibility - I’ve been a responsible adult for quite some time now. Responsible for others even.
But I’m now responsible to myself for what I do with my history.
How will I honor it?
Appreciate it?
Respect it?
And use it as a bridge to my future?
I don’t have any answers - yet! But you can believe I’ll be thinking about it.
When did you become the keeper of your own history?
What was it like for you?
Me, yesterday, with my beloved childhood dolls.
Use these prompts as written or as inspiration to uncover what you need in your life this week. And know that I’m always here to support you and answer questions you have along the way!
As we go through life, others help us tell our stories. Who is helping you keep your history?
What pieces are they holding for you?
When do/did you know you are/were ready to keep your own history?
What does it mean for you to be the keeper of your own history?
How can you honor and respect where you’ve come from? The experiences that have made you who you are?
Whose histories are you helping to keep? When will you know it’s time to hand them over?
One Journaling Idea I Love:
The Story of My Life
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I recently went to my moms house and picked up her old traditional sarees , stamp albums and some books and little antiques . Yes we are our own custodians of our own history and that of our family too . I even have a couple of heirlooms from my grandmother’s era
Great post! And gosh, so much to think about here - thanks, Amanda. I'm going to do some work on this.
My parents still live in the house where I grew up, and although some of my history has moved on from there, there is still a mine containing a precious seam of old toys, books and important memories waiting to be chipped away. It's such a big thing, though, to re-engage with the stuff that built us. Daunting, and perhaps easier NOT to engage with! As I say, I've got work to do!