On the west side of the lot in the house where I spent my teenage years, was a huge row of this hedge-type bush called Pyracantha. (Yes, I had to ask my mom what it was called.) The specific kind we had is officially named Teton Firethorn, but our name for it was a little more on the nose: The Pricker Bushes.

My siblings remember all kinds of balls being ‘eaten’ or deflated by the pricker bushes – and if you went in after them, you ended up scratched. They remember stepping on the bushes’ thorns and how hard it was to get the little tiny prickers out of little tiny hands and feet. They remember one or more of us falling into them if the turn at the bottom of the driveway was taken a little too quickly on a bike or a motorcycle.  

My brother Jack remembers trimming the pricker bushes as one of the chores he had to complete before being allowed to go to a school dance one Saturday. He went to the dance, but a little bit late – and very scratched up.  In fact, Jack went so far as to call those pricker bushes his nemesis and claims they are (his words) ‘good for nothing.’ 

In doing some research, I found out Pyracantha actually do have some value: 

1. They are hardy, drought resistant plants that prefer full sun – so they don’t need a ton of water but can tolerate shade.  
2. Their delicate little white blossoms in the spring attract pollinators. In summer, their hard little red ‘berries’ appear and persist into the fall and winter. Those berries add color – and they’re good for birds.  
3. Their prickers make them natural deer deterrents – a big deal in mountain areas like ours. And their dense growth protects small animals like quail from larger predators.
4. And they add as much privacy and coverage as a fence but can grow up to 10 feet tall and 6 feet wide, making them a useful and natural alternative to wood, vinyl, or chain link.  

(Take that, Jack!)

This week I was working with a longtime client who is trying to put a conclusion on a relationship that has been difficult for her.  It’s been thorny and sharp and, if you asked her a while ago, she would have said it was definitely ‘good for nothing.’

But she has worked really hard to rename that painful story – to see the value she’s gained from it and to even notice little places where she did show up as the side of herself she likes best. 

My siblings and I called those hedges of our youth “pricker bushes,” so of course we hated them. But that real name – Teton Firethorn – sounds kind of heroic, actually.

What might we be naming in a way that keeps us stuck in the hardest part?  And if we wanted to give it a new (more heroic!) name, where would we start?

Jenna Kutcher offers 4 steps that I’m adapting slightly, here, for our purposes. 

1. Observe our personal pain points. 

What is the circumstance that keeps surfacing in our brains or feels really hard to manage or keeps us up at night? What’s the story we tell ourselves about it?

2. Look for a pattern. 

Is there a theme we can see? Are there interpretations, behaviors, or habits we fall back on to make our story true?

3. Rename our story. 

What would need to change to give a new name some power?  How would we need to carry or present ourselves? What new beliefs would we need to adopt or accept?

4. Anchor the new name with action.

What tiny movement forward could we take to prove to ourselves that the new name fits? How could we teach our brains that the old name for this story is being intentionally replaced?

I can’t wait to hear what you’re renaming – what story you’ve been calling ‘good for nothing’ that might have some parts that are quietly heroic.  And if you need help naming it, or if you just want someone to witness the scratchy in-between part – I’m your gal.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

PS If you liked this post – or any others, I’d love you to pass me and my work on to a friend.  They can find out much more about me here if they’re interested!