Contrary to the childish saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” words do indeed leave a mark.

Sometimes, that mark lasts a good 30 years.

Recently, I took part in a difficult, yet liberating training on how to create one’s story. As a team building event, I didn’t actually set out with the intention of truly immersing myself in the process of discovering one’s primary message through recalling memorable life experiences, because, heck, I write all the time. Hadn’t I already written my story through hundreds of blog posts?

As the team leader, I booked the speaker and had every intention of being supportive of my fellow coaches as they took part in the development of their unique stories. Being a writer, I figured I was already ahead of the game, having learned enough about myself through my years on this blog. I enthusiastically welcomed my team and the speaker to the call and then settled in to simply listen.

Oops.

Funny.

There was a reason the speaker mentioned there might be a need for tissues.

Through a series of steps, my friend, who is also a fellow Team Beachbody Coach and certified trainer with the John Maxwell Company, took us through several activities that would culminate with the ability to communicate our message/purpose/vision (pick a word you like) through a finished story.

Why even tell my story? Is it some vain attempt for more attention?

Hardly.

I have this deep desire to help women find focus. I desperately want them to believe and experience that they have abilities and talents yet to be tapped. They can be more and accomplish more than the negative speech in their heads or their current circumstances dictate they can.

My sister recently put it this way, “Who wants to get to the end of the years with a gravestone that reads more than: I survived life?”

I do!

So if my story can inspire others to lock their attention on to their goals, put their heads down, keep their eyes and ears on their own paper and muster the courage to endure and succeed, I’ve done my duty.

For I wasn’t always this focused. Or inwardly confident.

My story starts like this:

I had no idea that being called a diva would change the course of my life.

If you get nothing else from this story, I need you to know that the childhood cliche of “sticks and stones”, while a nice sentiment, is false. Words have the ability to affix themselves like super glue. Or leeches.

And they can hold on for years.

In my case? Make that 30 years.

To be continued . . .