Storytelling & Mentorship with Rochelle Rice & Waypoint
Leo Hasselbacher, Bella Beaulieu, Rochelle Rice (workshop leader), Katrina Cornish
On Friday, April 4th, in the Chocolate Church Annex, Rochelle Rice led eight women through their final storytelling performance, and a few of us were lucky enough to experience these moving stories. The three-day workshop, hosted by the Chocolate Church Arts Center, introduced the participants to the process of uncovering and crafting personal narratives told in a “Moth Radio Hour” kind of setting. Please read below to discover the unique and heart opening stories crafted by our own MYC students & staff.
Rochelle, the artist-in-residence for the week, is a musician, podcast creator and educator. Her website shares that “As a singer and songwriter, Rochelle creates introspective, dynamic and deeply profound live music experiences. Her brand of lyric-driven, heart-centered music has led to collaborating with other women musicians including as part of the acclaimed, Sweet Honey in the Rock and fiery and fierce, bēheld.” It was a remarkable opportunity for our youth to experience an internationally acclaimed creative and dive into experiential learning. Discover more about the artist at ROCHELLE RICE
Average
By: Leo Hasselbacher
I always grown up as an average range kind of person,
Average height, average grades, average weight.
I grew up in an average household, you know, with your mom, dad and a few siblings.
Maybe a dog or two.
I’ve gone to average schools, nothing fancy like private school or being homeschooled.
Nothing crazy ever happened and i dont have alot of stories to tell.
When teachers ask, “tell me about a certain fun thing that happened to you recently”
I struggle to find my words.
Nothing fun has happened to me recently, does that happen for most people?
“I went for a walk”?….
How fun and interesting that is.
I write down some thing that happened forever ago and take the average grade that will come with it.
It’s even worse trying to hold a conversation.
“Do you play any sports?”
No
“Have you gone anywhere recently?”
No
Going into high school it started to get better,
Only a little better.
People will ask,
“What do you do after school”
Well, I go to work..
Oh and I do theater!
I have finally found something that’s not so average
I do musicals and plays
Now when people ask what i do after school i can tell them,
I love doing theater!
Now when they ask what fun things I’ve done recently i can tell them,
I did a production not too long ago and had a lot of fun!
I have found people who think I’m not so average
And I definitely have a not so average schedule now.
It feels almost as though I’ve found a purpose to my not so interesting life.
The people I have found have made my world completely change.
Now I’m a senior and I could not imagine this little life without the amazing community who has finally brought me to life.
My Story
By: Bella Beaulieu
Every night I close my eyes and watch my life. Not as me, as someone else…not me. It’s watching the awful things that happened to me, with a perspective I didn’t have when it was actively me in the moment. Watching myself grow from the hurt in good or bad ways. Looking at who I am and who I have been before.
My life has not been easy, which feels bad to say because that makes it sound awful. It has not been bad. My life has been good…just hard…with all the chaos I was born into there’s always been a way to make it all okay.
When I was born to two teenage parents who didn’t yet know who they were, with their own traumas and fears, with not a lot at all, but wanted to give their child better than they had. A chance to be who this child wanted to be. A chance at a better life.
Once it was only my mother after so long to be a perfect mom and baby my father…she left him, taking me and my sister away from the choices my dad made. Once I settled down, my mom found a new man to be with, parent with, and be loved by. She thought he was perfect. Over time he was less than perfect, than less than good, than less than even alright. He stole the hoppy woman my mom was from me, but in that moment, none of us ever would have guessed how awful it was. I remember being scared with my sister while they would scream and throw things…and the hurt of the words they would spew. But after every hold we would patch and every glass shard we would sweep and every bag we would unpack, it would be okay and we would get out and be happy just us.
While it was hard, it wasn’t awful. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if it was abnormal. So, I was never piserable or petrified. While there wasn’t peace in my home, there was peace all around me still. Whether it was through my mom, who still made sure we were okay before herself and learned from her mistakes, she made sure to nurture us and give us the best she could.
With all the hurt and loss there was beauty. From the things I endured I gained empathy. Empathy because I know what its like to be scared, empathy because I know what it’s like to hear about other people’s home lives and feel jealous, empathy because I know what it’s like to grow-up fast. Empathy because I know how it feels to not be able to tell people about how you feel. Empathy because I know what it’s like to wonder why…why the world is cruel and why things that are bad happen to good people and why they don’t go away. But during it all I was still happy. I knew things could be worse and this taught me to be grateful regardless of the bad. Thankful for the good. It taught me to be nurturing and caring and self aware, whether or not it was bad. A flower can bud from a pile of simple, gross dirt and grow into an absolute beauty.
Don’t tell me I’m brave
By: Katrina Cornish
My story is not a fairy tale to give you hope. There were no swords or shields or damsels in distress—unless you decide to count me. But no, I’m not the damsel, I’m not the hero, and I’m certainly not the bard performing to lift anyone’s spirits. I’m just the girl who lives in a body that is no longer hers.
There’s no prince to save me, no band of quirky adventurers to support me in my journey. My story isn’t a lesson, nor a cautionary tale. If knowing that I almost died on October 11th, 2015 reminds you to live life to the fullest, great—just don’t tell me I’m brave. I did not “volunteer as tribute” to survive an ordeal and bring glory to my people. I didn’t enter the water that fateful day prepared to fight a kraken. I didn’t gear up to scour the ocean floor for buried treasure. And I certainly did not choose to have nitrogen air bubbles expand in my spine, lungs and brain as I ascended in the clear pacific to a surface and life that would no longer feel like my own.
When I tell you that on October 11, 2015 I went for my first (and last) dive on my new advanced scuba certification, you may respect my adventurous heart.
When I tell you that as I surfaced in the swift current above the rock formation dubbed “little pinnacle” and had lost the ability to see, speak, and breath… you may feel a catch in your breath, a blur in your vision, or a heightened awareness and appreciation for your tongue and lips, your voice box and diaphragm…just don’t tell me I’m brave
When I tell you that as I regained my cognition and was asked to stand that my legs buckled and I dropped to the cement, you may notice the sturdiness of your own frame.
When I tell you that I chuckled as I crumpled to the floor, unaware that this would be my last laugh with the ease of an invincible 22-year-old…you may appreciate your own youth and the confidence that comes with a body that has known little trauma…just don’t tell me I’m brave.
When I tell you that I spent months in hospitals with doctors unconvinced that I would ever walk again, you may thank the universe for the simple steps that you take each day.
When I tell you that I cried in bed as I struggled to hold myself up, transfer to a wheelchair, or just put on some socks, you may feel the strength of your own core and the posture that it carries…just don’t tell me I’m brave.
When I tell you that the proudest moment of my life was walking out of that hospital on crutches, you may be in awe of my determination and drive.
When I tell you that I spent a year walking with a cane, carefully considering every event, every gathering, every plan, every step that I took…you may feel for the young-person that was robbed of effortless fun and appreciate the next time you visit a restaurant without the need to consider if the bathroom is on the first floor…just don’t tell me I’m brave
When I tell you that, even now I spend hundreds of dollars a month on catheters, suppositories and mental health medications…you may feel grateful for your own savings account, healthcare and trusted medical professionals.
When I say that my legs constantly feel like they are on the edge of sleep, that if I sit for too long they stiffen so much that I need to hold onto something for support when I stand, you may think of those moments when your own limbs have knocked-off and try to imagine that being a constant sensation.
When I say that every time food hits my lips I feel nauseous, that eating has become a painful chore, that my stomach is no longer effectively communicating with my brain…you may feel glad for your appetite and the joy that a good meal brings…just don’t tell me I’m brave.
When I say that…as I stand here…if I were to close my eyes I would no longer have the ability to balance…you may appreciate all of the times that you have wandered in the dark with ease.
When I tell you the tale of the last decade of my life, the challenges of navigating an invisible disability, coming out as a queer woman, and discovering that not only am I working with a traumatized brain but also a neurodivergent one…you may feel for the woman before you, ache for the added stresses of further marginalization, or just appreciate the transparency of my vulnerabilities…just don’t tell me I’m brave.
My story is not one of romance or courage. My story is not one of persistence or vengeance. My story has no whimsical plot or satisfying resolution. There was no man behind the curtain to send me home, no sword to pull from the stone, no magic healing elixir or spell to be cast. There is no bravery in facing a reality that I did not choose, living in a body that is foreign to me and waking up each day just to survive it. I did not reach a destination or conquer an evil doer. I do not tell my story for your benefit, but to control my own narrative. I am not here to inspire, or to be the reference for “it could be worse”. My life is not meant to serve you, or your perspective. When I tell you my story, I’m not looking for validation or flattery. I tell you my story so that you can know why my toes drag, or why I’m slow on the stairs, or why I disappear frequently in search of a bathroom. There is no glory for me in the everyday barriers that I overcome.
Don’t tell me im brave.
Tell me I’m kind or patient
Tell me I’m poised or independent
Tell me anything….or nothing at all…
….Just don’t tell me I’m brave.