This week during spring break, my family and I got to enjoy unhurried time together. We spent meals talking for hours. My son is now 6 and a half and (some days) able to really dive into sustained conversation with Daddio and Mama. He loves to connect through story and chatter.

One dinner this week, we got on the topic of ex partners. I wish I could remember what sparked that. In any case, once it had been mentioned, and I noticed my son’s slightly inquisitive face, I asked my son how he felt about the fact that his dad and I had loved and shared our lives with other people before we met and chose each other. My son shrugged, paused to think, then said “I want to know about all of them and why you stopped dating them”.

So we launched into some unexpected storytelling. I started, intuitively setting up a story-structure that felt authentic to me, appropriate for my 6 year old, and meaningful as a response to his ask. He wanted to know why the other relationships didn’t work out. Perhaps beyond that he was wondering why any relationship might not work out? Will Mama & Daddio’s not work one day? Will his and ours not work one day? I understood that safety needed to be centered right alongside truth-telling.

The story structure ended up a little like this:

I met _________ (name of ex) in ________( time period of my life). I liked him because _______________ (2-3 reasons why we had clicked or what I appreciated about that human being that I once loved). We spent about _________ (length of time) dating. In the end, we broke up because ____________(examples below).

• We were really in love and talked about marriage. But as we grew, he changed and stopped loving me. He wanted something else for his life and that’s ok. So I learned to let him go, and when I did, I was so grateful for the years we had together and grateful for the chance to build a life with someone else. (“You mean Daddio?” “Yup.”)
• He was very loving towards me, but in my heart, I knew I couldn’t grow a life and family with him. We just didn’t have enough of the same interests or beliefs. It was hard for me to break his heart.
• He was adventurous and smart but I saw too many examples of unkindness or dishonesty that didn’t sit right with me. I hung out with him just for a while because it was fun, but I didn’t let it get too serious. 

When I finished my list of little stories, my son asked his dad. His stories took on a similar structure as mine. My husband added a bit more feeling into his stories and I observed in full appreciation— What a gift for my young son to get inside access into the thoughts and feelings of a grown man who has loved and loved again. Here we were as a family, breaking bread, having courageous and memorable conversations, collectively organizing our memories and information into wisdom to walk with in this lifetime.

I was proud of us. We are not parenting by fairy tales. We both know from our lived experience that a person can love many times in a lifetime. Each relationship teaches us something more about ourselves and about the people we choose to connect with moving forward.

These stories were easy to tell because we’ve told them before. My husband and I have spent hours sharing these stories from our past, as though each one is a kaleidoscope lens showing who we are, who we’ve been, what we’ve learned.

There are no myths in our relationship either, at least not in this regard. I don’t need to believe that I am the only person my husband has ever loved and that there isn’t a possibility that one day there could also be an ending to our love story. Telling the truth in our stories allows us to connect more humanly, with more safety and less unrealistic expectations. There is deep appreciation held in that structure– appreciation for the people in our past, appreciation for our growth, appreciation for whatever the future holds.

I am so grateful I was prepared for my son's story prompt. Had I not been, I might have brushed it aside and said “I’ll tell you when you’re older”. But who knows if he’d ever ask again, and if he did would his ears and heart have been so open, so curious.

Had I not been prepared, I might have also made up a story, rather than structure an authentic one. A made-up story is a myth and it allows us to side-step discomforts we aren’t ready to face. I could have said, “I‘ve only ever loved your dad.” Or “I dated other people once but they all turned out to be bad and boring and stinky.” But that wouldn’t have been true, except for the stinky part.

A structured story makes deliberate choices each step: what to include or not include, what framework within which to center truth, which perspectives to surface, what message or lesson to underscore.  

I’m reflecting now on what connection points are so often missed in life when we aren't prepared with a story. How often have we missed the prompt when it’s presented to us—a moment for instruction, impact, building trust? Have we been ready to rise to occasion? Or have we deflected with a joke, a myth, or a pass?

What opportunities has this cost us in our jobs, families, friendships?

As we sit with this, I offer immense compassion for all of us. This stuff can be hard. We are up against a lot. Go easy on yourself and stay open.

I hope preparing stories empowers you and helps you connect with those you choose to, and that you begin to see how many portals and opportunities to make life more meaningful and authentic lay within and beyond courageous conversations and storytelling as a practice.