Article by Paola Musi. Spiritual and religious care assistant at Grande Ospedale Metropolitano Niguarda, Milan; home palliative care psychologist with Life Cure, Busto Arsizio; author of L’ultimo Miglio. Storie dall’hospice; founding member of the National Association of Spiritual Care Assistants.
Telling one’s story is not only about sharing one’s experience: it is a way of finding the thread of one’s own life again, especially when illness forces us to question the meaning of life, fragility, and care.
The need to narrate and to tell one’s own story belongs deeply to the human being. It is not merely a tool for communication or for sharing with those who listen: it is also, and perhaps above all, a precious way to recover, reread, and recompose one’s personal history.
Each person carries within them a unique heritage of experiences, encounters, wounds, choices, and hopes. It is a precious baggage, a constitutive part of one’s deepest identity. Through storytelling, a person can return to what they have lived, recognize its value, understand its turning points, and rework its most difficult passages, much as one steps back from a painting in order to better grasp it as a whole.
A Story That Is Also Spiritual
Each person’s story is also a spiritual story. We are not always aware of this, and we do not always name it as such, but the spiritual dimension dwells within every person. It does not necessarily coincide with religion: it concerns what moves us, what guides our path, the values that shape our decisions, goals, relationships, and life projects.
Spirituality concerns the meaning of living: of speaking and acting, of work and affections, of life and death. It touches the fundamental questions: who we are, who we have been, who we wish to become; and it restores depth to the experiences we go through.
At times, this part of life remains in the shadows. Sometimes we prefer not to stop, not to question ourselves, not to open up questions that seem too big or too uncomfortable. And yet, in one way or another, life eventually places them before us: why must I suffer? What have I done to deserve this? Why now? What will become of my future? What is the meaning of all this? Especially at certain moments in our existence, life whispers—or sometimes forcefully cries out—its questions of meaning.
Care in the Face of Fragility
It is within this space that spiritual assistance in care settings takes on an essential role. Its task is to meet people as they come to terms with illness, whether curable or incurable, and to stand alongside not only the patient, but also their family and emotional network.
It must also be able to care, in a different way, for healthcare professionals themselves: those called to respond to the health needs and the need for a good life of those who turn to them, drawing not only on their professional training, but also and above all on their shared humanity.
Illness forces all those involved to look at life from the perspective of fragility and finitude: not as an incident or an accident along the way, but, more consciously, as something inscribed in the humanity of each of us.
It often requires a reassessment of priorities: for a limited time, when recovery is possible, or for the whole of one’s existence, when the illness is disabling or terminal.
In these passages, it may become necessary to narrate to oneself, even before narrating to others, the life lived up to that point: to grasp its meaning, recognize a design, appreciate its gifts, make peace with one’s imperfections and, at times, ask for or offer forgiveness.
Telling one’s story helps to rediscover that red thread running through existence: the meaning attributed to events, the meaning recognized in the human and the transcendent and, for those who believe, also the meaning of the divine.
Narrative Medicine and Listening
From this perspective, narrative medicine represents a privileged tool. Through trained professionals and appropriate methods, it makes it possible to welcome and legitimize life stories, giving space not only to symptoms and diagnoses, but also to the biographical, relational, and spiritual dimension of the person. All this in order to care even when healing is no longer possible.
I draw a concrete example from the pages of my book: L’ultimo Miglio. Storie dall’hospice, in the account of Annamaria’s accompaniment. Through the narration of her own story, the patient was able to approach the end of life with feelings of gratitude, recognizing herself as loved and fortunate.
“Through narration, she was able to remember and savor events, encounters, and expressions of affection once again… like caresses from which she drew the strength for her serenity.”
“At certain moments, it is important to remember and to tell one’s story, because one looks back and makes a kind of synthesis, a balance sheet of one’s past life. As for me, I can tell you that I am serene, happy, and satisfied with everything I have lived. I am almost 50, but I feel as though I have lived 100 years, twice as many, because they have been so full! There has been much suffering, especially linked to my health and my personal history. But I am happy and serene for everything I have had and lived. And then I have hope in the world ‘beyond’… I believe in it deeply, you know? I will see my loved ones again and everything will be more beautiful… or at least, that is what I hope. And this hope helps me keep going […]
Also because of all these recognitions, I can say that many people have not been as fortunate as I have been. This gives me great strength, also in relation to the illness. It is as though that deep joy were able to push the illness away. I am a strong believer and I trust in the Lord; He is always beside me, before me, behind me… He never abandons me. I feel Him close. For me, this is a beautiful thing. I think not everyone has had the possibility and the fortune to have this certainty. It almost makes the illness slide away; it cleanses my heart and mind. This, in my opinion, is the most beautiful thing that can happen to a sick person: to be ill and yet almost forget being ill. I wish everyone could feel as I do…”
Living with Open Eyes
Perhaps the deepest message of the spiritual dimension is this: to live with open eyes. Open to the present, but also to the past and the future. Open in order to make more conscious choices, to live in harmony with oneself, with creation and, for those who believe, with God.
Creating spaces for listening and narration means offering oneself and others the possibility of observing the picture of one’s life from a little distance, as one does with masterpieces. Only in this way does it become possible to grasp the meaning of every detail and every colour or nuance, with the attentive and passionate gaze of someone who knows how to recognize value even in fragility.