Living Authentically

Sometimes, a particular blog post will feel like an open wound that I voluntarily choose to expose to the world and with each comment of feedback, whether it be public, private, or here say, the wound either begins to scab over or is once again ripped open raw again.  So why do I choose to share my life, my weaknesses, musings, and opinions publicly you might ask?  There are a couple of reasons.  First of all,  it is because of something I will refer to as quietism and the negative effects it has had on me and on what I have seen it do to other people.  I will define quietism as the constant need to quiet oneself in order to ease the burdens that being open and honest would have on yourself and others.  It is the belief that if you shove your feelings, thoughts, and experiences down deep for long enough, they will cease to exist or become less important.  It believes that being open and honest breathes a negative life into things that left quiet, would otherwise die.  Quietism has been the great solace and the great temptation of my reserved and fiercely private temperament. The problem with this is that sometimes quieting yourself for many years starts to feel like shame.  Shame convinces us that owning our stories will lead to people thinking less of us.  Shame is all about fear.  We are afraid that people won't like us if they know the truth about who we are, where we come from, what we believe, what mistakes we have made, how much we have struggled or are struggling, or how wonderful we are when we are soaring.  "Shame needs three rings to grow out of control in our lives:  secrecy, silence, and judgment."  (Brene Brown)  And in all likelihood, there are people who most definitely WILL like us less, accept us less, and not respect who we are when we choose to open ourselves up to honesty and vulnerability.  But should we value their view of us over our own?  The thing about it is, that we all have lived very lonely lives at one time or another, silently wondering if we are the only ones that feel this way, made this mistake, think that way, or are innately this or that way.  If only we had someone to confide in that had felt the same way or gone through similar struggles, we may think.  Maybe if we did, they could give us insight and help ease the loneliness.  It takes a brave person to expose their vulnerability and struggles to those around them, but in doing so, there is a ripple effect of kinship with others of like mind, of empowerment that if they can get through something so can I, and the most important effect is others knowing:  I am not alone.  One of the bravest people I know is my good friend, Annie who has been through more in her life than just about anyone I know.  What I admire about her is her tenacious honesty about her mistakes, her history, and her unbridled disclosure of her whole self.  She is incredibly resilient and in spite of what she has been through, including the horrific death of her sweet daughter Kailee, she is probably one of the happiest people I know.  She gives everyone around her strength because we, as her friends think, if Annie can be happy, certainly I, having much less to carry, can be happy.  She makes it okay for everyone around her to have flaws, to be honest about them, and yet to press forward trying to be better.  I have found this ripple effect when writing about my parenting failures and triumphs.  No one feels close to a person who is always happy, has perfectly behaved children, whose life is all peaches and has no apparent flaws because, simply put, deep down we know it's a lie and so do they.  We've all probably experienced the awkwardness of having a conversation with someone where we choose to divulge something about our imperfect life, like how we couldn't wait to get our kids out the door in the morning, or how we don't always enjoy going to church and it's met with silence or an incredulous "Really?!"  If you're anything like me, you either avoid this person like the plague in the future or come to the realization that you too, will have to lie in that person's presence in order to maintain any sort of relationship.  E.E. Cummings said, "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are."  Nearing my 40th year, I feel the inclination strongly to live authentically, which to me means to embrace who I am, realizing that there is peace to be found there and that it is impossible to truly be accepting and compassionate of others until you are of your own self.  Someone today at church referred to the fact that he was incredibly flawed but that the challenge to change all of the myriad of things he needed to, excited him.  What a healthy and inspiring attitude!  I am flawed, I embrace myself flaws and all, and coming from this vantage point, change is exciting!  This is what I want for me.

For many years, I was of the philosophy that to be a good parent, you expose only the best of yourself to your children, carefully hiding things of your past and flaws of the present in order to model the best person for them to emulate.  Of course just having children, generally inspires us to be more and to want more from our own selves, and certainly, there must be much prudence taken when talking to our children about our own life struggles, taking into account their age and level of maturity.  But I am of the opinion now that it is more important to model how to get through our struggles and mistakes in a healthy and triumphant way then to pretend we never had any.  They don't even need to be the same problems that our children struggle with because in essence, all pain, loneliness, failure, doubt, joy, etc. is the same to varying degrees regardless of how we come by them, so we should always be able to relate to our children in empathy even if we haven't gone through the exact same thing.  Subconsciously hoping that they will never make any mistakes so that they don't have to feel any pain is not only futile, because they most certainly will, but misguided because we learn and grow from mistakes.  I believe that the philosophy that if you admit to doing something wrong to your children that it validates it for them that they too can now do it, is a faulty notion.  First of all, a lot depends on the tone in which you speak to them about your problems and whether they will interpret it as something desirable or not and secondly, the advantage of helping them feel that you can relate to them and that they are not alone is an advantage that highly outweighs the risk of being honest with them.  Some of my most tender moments with my children are when we take a long walk and they choose to open up to me about something they are worried about, or did that was wrong and I am able to say, "I know how you feel.  I had the same problem.  This is what I did that helped me get through it."  So far, my children tell me EVERYTHING--almost too much information sometimes!  But I feel greatly privileged to connect to them on this level.

My quandary with entering this new year was the question, is it better for me to sink back into the obscurity in the temptation of quietism in order to spare myself and perhaps others a certain amount of discomfort or to embrace the growth that can be found in being open and honest about my opinions, my struggles, and my life?  Believe me when I say it was not an easy decision and definitely not clear cut.  But I think at this stage in my life, I feel the need to move past the fear of what people will think if I am me.  Because quietism has equalled shame and felt like oppression to me, I can no longer continue in it.  So even though for me, sharing is the harder road, I will do for others what I want done for me:  openness and honesty which can only lead to a brotherhood and sisterhood among those who desire the same thing, where we are all there when one falls to help give each other a hand, and all there to cheer when one soars.  Here's to living authentically!