Being the Hero in Your Own Narrative

A lot has happened since I last posted. If you followed this blog in the past, welcome back. By all means, feel free to post and get a dialogue going. Same with you newcomers.

Right now, I'm outside my tent watching the sun rise over the desert. Tonight will be a spectacular full moon. These days, I tend to think of the outdoors as my living room and heavenly objects as my chandeliers.

I've been on the road for two years, living out of my car, sleeping in a tent and, occasionally, on people's couches. My first year on the road, I did a complete circuit of the country, from rural San Diego to Florida, up through the Appalachians into New York and New England, across the plains states and into the Northwest, then down into California and back where I started. Eleven months, 30 states, 13,000 miles. Then back on the road.

My second year, I divided my time between the Southwest and the Northwest, adding two new states to my list, but staying put long enough to get off a draft book of my first-year road adventures and misadventures. I'm hoping to find a mainstream publisher in due course. In the meantime, I've just begun the final book to my self-published Bipolar Expert Series. The first two were on mood and behavior. This one is on recovery.

Funny thing when writing a book – themes pop up out of nowhere. A few days ago, a major one jumped out and hit my in the face. This has to do with the fact that we need to cast ourselves as heroes in our own stories. Otherwise, recovery is a nonstarter.

The model for the hero's journey, of course, is Joseph Campbell's classic Hero of a Thousand Faces. Breaking it down …

The hero gets called to action, often with great reluctance, leaving her safe and comfortable world behind. Along the way, she picks up a mentor and a helper or two, plus a magic object to aid her in her quest. Over time, the stakes grow exponentially higher, typically with the fate of the world riding on the outcome. She faces various challenges and temptations, caves into despair at least once, then with renewed purpose reaches her destination, defeats the enemy, and achieves the object of her quest.

In the process of the journey, she has acquired new wisdom and insight, with a new sense of self. She is no longer the same person she was back when she set out at the beginning. The trick now is to bring all she has gained back into her old world, a boon to herself, a boon to humankind.

The original Star Wars trilogy followed this template, as did Lord of the Rings.

In our own world, the hero’s journey tends to be far more prosaic but no less inspiring. Sometimes, these involve Hollywood actors in real life. Typical is the star who has fallen from grace due to an alcohol or drug addiction. After a long battle wrestling with his demons, he returns to good standing and makes movies again, infinitely wiser, an inspiration to those going through similar struggles.

We also see these stories played out in our everyday lives: The tradesman who has lost years of his life to drug abuse, then finds Jesus, and now, with a supportive faith community, is back on his feet, helping others. Or the single mom battling tooth and nail to keep her family together through all sorts of financial and other hardships, including a disabled child, and in the process discovers strengths she never knew she had. On and on ...

What we don’t see nearly enough of, though, are our own stories – from those of us contending with depression and bipolar and similar challenges – every bit as worthy, every bit as inspiring. One problem could be is that we don’t frame our struggles in terms of the hero’s journey. Perhaps we’re too ashamed to want to draw attention to ourselves. You might call this a form of self-stigma. It could also be that well-meaning clinicians and family members tend to take over our narratives.

I’ve seen this happen time and again. I finally gave up on one well-known national mental health organization after watching them trot out patients at a national conference like entries at a dog and pony show. Instead of heroism, the ideal of this organization proved to be compliance – of dependents doing what those who purported to know better told them to do. To rub salt into the wound, the conference in question devoted a gala evening to a doctor on their payroll, one who made his bones promoting the idea that patients lacked basic insight into their illness.

What I didn’t see at this conference were patients on an equal footing with doctors and family members, delivering keynotes or being otherwise featured, based on their considerable level of expertise and what they had to offer.

Nearly two years later, I received an email flier from this same organization, promoting their upcoming conference. Sure enough, no patients as the featured speakers. When I contacted the person responsible for the flier, she responded that not mentioning patients in their promotion was an oversight.

Okay, I thought, prove it. I replied asking her to name the patient speakers at the conference. I explicitly added that their usual dog-and-pony show patients don’t count (I worded it far more diplomatically but with no less emphasis). With tremendous satisfaction, she got back to me, citing the dog-and-pony show patients. That was the last straw.

I will have a lot more to say in upcoming posts about casting ourselves as the hero in our own narrative, on our own terms, shooting for the stars, with something to offer the world – not as meek betas, expected to submit, settling for miserable existences, a burden on those around us.

Don't let others steal your narrative. Much more to come. Your comments most welcome ...

John McManamy is the author of Living Well with Depression and Bipolar Disorder and is the publisher of the Bipolar Expert Series, available on Amazon.

Follow John on Twitter at @johnmcman and on Facebook.