There are books that meet you at just the right time, when you most need and are open to their messages. I can well imagine encountering the warm Texan embrace of Brené Brown's brand of social psychology at other times of my life and being turned off by its fierceness, volume and confidence. I may have looked askance at the cult of Brené Brown, with legions of devotees who discovered her through her TED talk gone viral, read her previous works, taken her Oprah-endorsed self-actualization workshops, or listened to her CD series on vulnerability and shame. Rising Strong is in fact my first encounter with Brené Brown's work. It was pressed into the hand of the person who gave it to me as a gift last Christmas, the bookstore clerk assuring him it was a life-changing read, and now I will be the one to press it into everyone else's hands.
So yes, let's just get it out there: the subtitled theme of Rising Strong, this triumvirate of Reckoning-Rumble-Revolution is schticky and looks like pop-psychology gone wild. It will likely turn off others who rely exclusively on data and peer-reviewed research to support social science theory and prescriptive methodology.
What I came to love about Brown's narrative is the marriage of research and inspiration, her ability to take grounded theory and apply it to art-the art of emotion, the art of knowledge, the art of faith.
What is this book about exactly? It's about surviving hurt, acknowledging shame, embracing vulnerability, learning how to tell our stories, and getting back up to do it all over again, with courage and determination.
The emphasis on personal narrative touched me deeply. As a writer, I believe we are wired for story and my greatest healing has come by turning to the page, not only in telling my own stories, as I do when spilling my guts in my journal, or constructing a personal essay that is meant to reveal more universal truths, but in creating fictional worlds with characters who are born of my heart, my emotions, and in a tangential way, my experiences. So Brown's insistence that we use the physical act of
writing out
our narratives as a way to achieve truth and emotional release resonates deeply. Only in writing our stories can we examine what's real and what isn't, when we've conflated nostalgia with memory, when our memories have failed us and we fill in the gaps with drama or denial, where there is room for change or a different way of looking at the past that has shaped us.
There are too many components of this book that touched me, made me nod or tear up with recognition, made me turn to my partner and read aloud. Just too many. Here are a few: The destructive nature of comparative suffering. The phenomenon of "chandeliering", when we've packed down hurt so tightly that a seemingly innocuous comment can send us straight up to the chandelier with an emotional reaction well out of proportion to the situation. The need to sustain our creative souls. The idea that everyone is simply doing the best they can and recalibrating your responses accordingly. Creating boundaries to access compassion. Courage is contagious. Hope as a learning process, not a fly-by emotion. Embracing regret as a path toward empathy and how trauma leads to shame, and unacknowledged shame prevents us from being vulnerable.
Although I found many of the anecdotes that led to the development of theories and the concrete plans for personal engagement a bit trite, the approach to change Brown offers—like both hands extended to lift the reader up—is ripe and right, with practical, actionable guidance.
I'm on board. All in. Let's do this.