Coming Clean in 2015

Over the years in my life, I have become a very skilled liar. I don't mean the kind of liar who looks you right in the face and fabricates scenarios, or embellishes details in order to fit the present need (though if you ask my mom, she will probably tell you I did my fair share of this as a little girl). I mean a very different kind of liar; the kind of liar that exists in some small way, in each of us. I had perfected into an art form the practice of lying to myself and of keeping truths to myself when they should have been shared with others. I would stuff these truths down into a dark corner of my soul, pretending that they didn't exist, and beating them over the head when they threatened to emerge.  Looking them square in the face felt too threatening, too scary, or too risky.

Adversity in life is a funny thing. Whether it is self-inflicted or inflicted upon us, it creates the same reaction. It lights a fire in our soul that burns so hotly that it can feel like we are being consumed. But eventually, if we allow it to, it purifies whatever it touches. The bigger the adversity, the larger the flame, and the greater its capacity to purify. Though I am no Job, I have seen my share of adversity in my life. Some of it is readily obvious. You need only talk to me for 10 minutes to learn about the basic details of it. Other trials I have endured require a much more intimate relationship to be revealed. These are only shared with a very exclusive group of people. Finally, their are struggles that are so private that I do not trust them with anyone at all, only myself. Suffice it to say, I have seen my share. (To those who don't know me well, please don't take this is a "woe is me" pity party. To those who DO know me, well,  you already know that I don't have a single pity party bone in my body. It is purely a statement of fact).

 With each adversity that I have experienced in my life, the flame has grown larger and larger, catching on fire everything that it touches. There came a point when it had burned for so long that I stopped to look, and realized I could see straight through myself and out the other side. Not to say that I was perfectly pure, but the heat had taken the gritty, murky sand of my awareness and turned it into crystal clear glass.  I could see my motivations, intentions, actions, and who I was with a clarity that took me aback. It was a terrifying experience, one that I had to introduce myself to in degrees, because as I looked through the new glass of my self-awareness, I saw the liar that I had become.

Dishonesty has more power than people give it credit for in our society of self advancement.  Its power is one of destruction and separation. The power of dishonesty is that it takes the parties in a relationship and it separates them emotionally. The greater or more frequent the dishonesty, the further the separation. If we are dishonest with our significant others, a rift is created that can leave us feeling like islands when what we should feel is oneness. When we are dishonest with our friends and colleagues, it becomes impossible to feel close and lasting bonds with them. And finally, when we are dishonest with ourselves, we rob ourselves of the most valuable relationship we can have on this earth, the one that is with us every second of every minute of every day.

Inversely, the greater our honesty with ourselves and those around us, the stronger the bond that is formed in our relationships. We become welded together in associations that can transcend what we ever thought possible in this life. This is the feeling we have when our hearts feel like they could burst out of our chests when we consider someone that we love.

At the onset of 2015, I gathered the courage to take a good long look through the glass that is me. Having worked so hard at being a liar, I had created a distant little island,  emotionally separated from all I had lied to, especially myself.  I realized what I had known for a very long time, that I was lonely. The saddest part about it all was that I knew exactly why and I knew that the power to change it was completely within my control. I say sad, but really it was liberating. Deliciously, terrifyingly liberating. And so I made a New Year's Resolution. I resolved that 2015 would be a year of HONESTY.  No more lying to myself. No more keeping truths from others.

This new honesty evolved and shifted, taking many different forms in my life.  Though I had committed to speaking my truth, I was still the same girl that I had always been. A.big.fat.chicken. I discovered a tool early on in the year that saved my resolution from dying a sad and untimely death. I discovered that the truth flowed out of me like water when I used the written word.

 I began to use this arrow in my quiver slowly and tentatively, realizing in layers the versatility that this voice gave me. I used it to blog about some of the most tender, sacred, or harrowing moments in my life. My goal was to share my truth so that others might benefit from a shared experience, but also because I knew it made me feel emotionally connected to my greater network of friends, family, and acquaintances. Each post that I wrote caused anxiety and several reconsiderations of whether to make myself that vulnerable to the outside world. As I was tempted to shrink from sharing, I remembered that vulnerability is one of the purist forms of honesty. Therefore, vulnerability, as terrifying as it inherently is, creates healthy emotional bonds. So, I shared.

I used my tool of writing to speak the truth inside of me to people who I was not yet friends with, but so sincerely wanted to be. Making friends has never come easily to me, and the dishonesty of keeping truths to myself that should have been shared had made it virtually impossible over the years. With my resolution, sometimes it was all I could muster to send a terrifying, child-like text that said "Hey. I think you are great. I want to be your friend". Other times I would write to tell someone a truth that I felt they needed to hear. These formed messages, texts, and notes filled with the amazing qualities I saw in the people around me. As I shared with them, I felt relationships grow stronger. Other times, the truth that needed to be spoken was an uncomfortable one.  There were times when someone wronged me through insensitive or blatant words or acts. The old me would swallow this truth, holding it in my stomach until it made me feel physically sick. As I found the courage to say these truths to the appropriate party in a mature way, I felt the liberation of honesty. True to form, miraculously, these truths created stronger emotional relationships as well.

I learned to be more honest with my husband and my family, my most favorite relationships that I possess. I said the truths about how I felt about them as often as I could think of them.  I allowed them to see me as I truly am, as difficult as that was at times. The discoveries we made along the way from being honest have taken us from the a place of futility and darkness to a place of light, hope, and progress.  

Being honest with myself was the hardest skill to learn. I am human, and therefore, I am made up of many beautiful and weak parts. I took myself apart, piece by piece. I owned the weak parts so that I could understand them for what they were and learn to improve them if I could, or navigate my life within them if I must. The beautiful parts were as hard to face as the weak ones. Probably more so, actually. Statements of truth about my personal strengths left me with "Who do you think you are?" feelings. I decided to push through, so that I could hone the talents that God gave me. As I learned to analyze these beautiful and weak parts of me, and see them for what they really were, the emotional bond I felt with myself increased ten-fold. I felt more mercy for my weaknesses and more admiration for my strengths. It sounds funny to say, but I found a greater friend in myself than I found in anyone else during this year.

As 2015 draws to a close, I raise my glass of sparkling cider in a toast to the things I learned this year. Here's to vulnerability, and raw honesty. They are game changers.  I look forward to the journey that 2016 has in store for me. One thing is for sure. Its going to be a wild ride.














 

Catching Up

Do you remember when we were dating and you took me on that date to Starbucks? You had to leave for Army Basic Training in San Antonio just a few days after we were engaged. We spent our entire engagement apart, only seeing each other a couple of times before our wedding. I thought I would die from the ache of being apart from you. You were so thoughtful when you called to tell me that you had come up with a way for us to continue to go on dates even though there were a 1000 miles between us. You told me you wanted to take me on a date to Starbucks. We both were deeply engrossed in a love affair with their Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino. You told me to go to the Starbucks in Mesa at 6pm and you would arrive at the same time at the one in San Antonio. We would both buy a drink, call each other, and then sit there and talk while we enjoyed our treat. I was convinced you were the most romantic boy on the face of this planet.

I spent the hour before our meeting time curling my hair, paying special attention to my makeup, and picking out an outfit that I felt complimented my "never carried a child", still super slim figure. Even though I knew you couldn't see me, I wanted to be in the right frame of mind to spend time with you. I arrived a couple of minutes early, ordered my drink, and settled into the modern sofa in the corner for our intimate date. We talked about your struggle to find your place in the Army, my cache of stories from my first year of teaching middle school, and plans for our upcoming wedding. After an hour had passed, I gave up the couch to the next customer and left feeling like I had connected with you on another level, despite the worlds between us.

We haven't gone on a date in a long time.

My mom randomly stopped by today and offered to watch the kids while I took Reagan to ballet. This gave me a 45 minute window during her class to spend however I wanted. I knew immediately what I wanted to do with this rare luxury. We were going on a date. I arrived at our Starbucks, ordered my Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino, and settled into the couch in the corner. I didn't touch my phone. This time was about you and me. I wanted to give you my undivided attention. I sipped slowly on my cold drink and thought about the differences in me since the last time we were in this place. I'm carrying 25 extra pounds, courtesy of 4 beautiful children. My hair was pulled into a messy pony tail, and I was wearing my mom uniform. Skinny Jeans. Black t-shirt. Tennis shoes. Nothing special here. I have several fine lines on my face that weren't there the last time we did this, and the little bit of makeup I put on this morning has since worn off.  Instead of having a single solitaire diamond engagement ring on my left hand, I wear a wedding ring on the ring finger of both hands. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself.

I closed my eyes as we talked about Reagan, how I don't think about you as often as I would like, and how you don't talk to me nearly as often as I would like. I squeezed my eyes tight to hold back the tears that threatened to escape, feeling the ache from the distance that separates us. I sat there, just you and me, a million miles apart, but somehow together at the same time. It was good to catch up.