The Magic of Fairytales

I have recently become aware of the magic of writing or creating fairy tales based on real life. They can be therapeutic when you apply them to your own life and an amazing gift when given to someone you love. Talking to my sister, Kathy about this she said fairytales give you the chance to look at a story objectively, make fun of it and often find resolution as children's stories always have a happy ending.

A gift of love
Two years ago on my mother's 80th birthday, my sister wrote a fairytale about my mother's life. She reversed my parent's names (which gives the feeling of anonymity) and used the language of fantasy to describe the places where she had lived "a far, far away land of green hills and bushy hedges" to describe Wales and the "Land of Open Spaces where the sun shone all the time" to describe country Australia. She lovingly detailed key stages in my Mum's life and how she had to work very hard. She used the repetition of my Mum being given advice that “you will have to work very hard for that” and my Mum's response “this is not what I expected at all.”

She used symbolic fantasy language to illustrate the story such as this "when you had a child you would hang at least a dozen white fluffy flags out on a flag pole every day for two years to tell the people of the Land that you had a child.

Ina had one child and then before long had two more and then another.  After 18 months Ina was spending her whole day wheeling out dozens and dozens of white fluffy flags and hanging them up on the flag pole and then bringing them in each evening and folding them up ready for the next day."

My sister read the story at my mother's birthday lunch and had the family in stitches as we appreciated the wit and tenderness with which she treated my mother's life.  My mother loved the story and read it to everyone for months after the event.

Resolving a work issue
A few months later, my husband and I were immersed in an incredibly stressful experience of handing over our business to the new owners. We had run the company as a small family owned business and maintained this 'family' flavour even though we had grown the business to six clinics and employed 26 staff. The new owners were a multinational corporation who we perceived to be changing and dismantling our 'family' in the takeover.

On a short holiday to get some respite from the 'trauma'  of this process, I searched online for suggestions to deal with my stressed out emotional response. I read a blog entry (which sadly I can't reference as I didn't ever think I would be referring to it in public) where a man wrote about how cathartic he had found the process of writing a fairytale as part of a management course.

I decided to write about my experience of selling and handing over our business as a fairytale. I found the experience so freeing. I could refer to all the players without naming them. In the tale, our business was called "the Garden of Life", which became a wonderful metaphor for the buyer "Emperor of Seed" and the new heads of different departments as Dukes and Duchesses of different parts of the garden.

When I wrote my final paragraph, I created a sense that completion and peace would eventually result in my story. This was what I wrote. (My husband is the King and I am Penelope)

"The King and Penelope loved their Garden even though it had caused them some sleepless nights, they had a loyal team of gardeners who were willing to work in the new Empire and collaborate with the Dukes and Duchesses. The King and Penelope realized that they were grieving the loss of their family, their dream and their success. But in the end, the Garden would survive and thrive and for Penelope and the King, freedom would be their reward."

 

Personal Resolution

Last year at memoir writing course, I was invited to write my life story as a fairytale. While there are so many ways to approach this, I chose to write about one aspect of my life. I published it on my blog and you can read it here.

 

Helping someone else with an issue

Towards the end of last year, I was in contact with a dear friend who was feeling depressed. She is a keen reader of my blog and remarked on how she loved reading my fairytale.  

 

Thinking about her story, it struck me that I could rewrite it as a fairytale. In the early hours of the next morning (3am to be precise) the story woke me up. As I lay in bed, sleep evaded me while the story unfolded and developed in my mind. Eventually at 5am, I just had to get up and write the story down.

 

I loved the way changing people's names, finding symbols for her special talent "a heartful of love that could shine on everyone she loved" and then using the same symbol so that when she became sad, her heart became dull and tarnished.

 

Finally the moral from her fairy godmother was

"People who are given the heartful of love always shine it on everyone they love and the places where they live and they forget to shine it on themselves. The first rule when you have the heartful of love is that you must shine it on yourself first, every morning and every night, BEFORE you shine it on anyone else. If you don't, it will go dull and wear out."

I loved writing this story and when my friend read it she said she had tears in her eyes. She rang me to say she was so excited to have her very own fairytale. It was a beautiful gift that gave my friend a lot of pleasure and helped her see her world from another perspective.

Planning my future Now as I sit here wondering what my new career plan might look like, I am writing a fairytale about how I can unpack my fears. I will let you know how it works out.

 

If anyone has posted a fairytale or used one in life writing, I'd love to know about your experience. Please leave a link in the comments or send me an email to  jenfish90 at gmail dot com

 

My niece, Steph, aged 3; one of our beautiful real life fairies. 1993 (taken by my sister, Kathy
with a watercolour filter added by me)

the announcement

Two years ago, at our staff Christmas party, we told our staff that we had signed a contract to sell our business. It took another 8 months before the handover was completed. I am now realising that the experience of building up a successful business over 20 years as well as the experience of letting go what had effectively become a huge part of our marriage and family as well as part of who we are as people, is something I must write about next year.

I wrote the story below last year when I was still dealing with the night of the announcement.

Standing in the foyer, I can see our staff arriving for the Christmas dinner. I am aware that I have a secret. Bruce and I have been harbouring this shocking secret for almost six months. I feel a nervous churning in my stomach.

I am the designated speaker, the one to tell this tale to them all. I have been practising the speech for six months, waking fitfully and rehearsing at 3am. Tears course down my cheeks every time I say the words. I have perfected it now, honed it to a beautiful script. I am due to tell them after we have eaten entree. God, only a couple of hours to go.

I damp down my anxiety push my rehearsal into the background. I put on my friendly smiling welcoming face. I pretend it is just another Christmas dinner.

The waitress brings a glass of white wine. I take the glass gratefully. I sip the cool dry liquid and feel it soothe me. I admire the view from the window. The Opera House and Harbour Bridge are lit up against the inky night sky.

Behind me I hear the happy joyous chatter as our staff reconnect, greet each other and share their wishes for the Festive Season. "This is such a gorgeous location" they say. Little do they know.

The room feels warm and close. I move to chat to a small group of laughing women. We talk about our plans for Christmas, how we will spend time with family. I cover my deception with chitter chatter.

I am relieved when we are ushered into our private room. Twenty four people sit around the table. Bruce and I are together at the head. I study the menu and choose my meal thoughtfully. The table looks pretty. Tea lights twinkle. I hear the snap of Christmas crackers. Brightly coloured hats adorn their heads. There is laughter and enjoyment. I am aware how shortly this will change.

The final plates are cleared. It is time. I rise to my feet. The waitress has been pre-warned. She discreetly finishes filling water glasses and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I take a breath, aware that all eyes are on me. I tell a story. I say the words that I have rehearsed. I tell them gently, softly and with love, Bruce and I have reached a decision. We have signed a contract to sell the business. They will all have jobs, not much will change, just that we will leave and be replaced by a company that they know and love.

It wasn't so hard. Surprisingly, I didn't cry. It felt so good, like a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I take in all the faces. So many people are crying. Quietly, softly just letting tears trickle down their faces. They will miss us and we will miss them.

I sit down. Bruce stands and reassures them. We had to do it. We are sorry. We will be there for the ride. We won't be leaving for 8 months. It's not over yet. We invite questions. The questions come. Slowly at first, they ask, we answer.

Then more food arrives. They turn to each other and engage. At least, they have each other on that they can depend.

Sydney Harbour by night 2011