I think I’ve talked about the expression brutally honest here before. There is something I love and despise about that expression. The phrase brutal honesty is profound for me, because it ultimately aligns with the life I want to lead, as described in my earlier posts on this topic. What I don’t care for is the notion of brutality. My truth may be painful for me at times, but I have no desire to beat anyone else over the head with it. Even when someone has hurt me, intentionally or otherwise, I don’t feel compelled to do the same in return. It’s just not who I am. Our truth may hurt others but if that is the goal, the outcome is not likely going to be one we desire. Why? Well, it means that we are speaking our truth from a place where we are seeking a reaction. I am not speaking my truth as a pure expression. I want the person I am speaking it to, to respond in a way that provides me with some satisfaction. They might reinforce the reason why I am speaking my truth or they might ease my troubles, but I have placed the ball in their court.
This, for me, is not the way that truth works on the path to worthy. When we speak our truth here, in this place, we do so with the intention of freeing ourselves. We do so to remain authentic. We do so in the face of making ourselves incredibly vulnerable.
I recently was faced with sharing my truth with two friends. I am not ashamed to tell you that my first thought was to their individual reactions. One friend I was unsure as to how it would reflect on our relationship and I was also unclear as to how the conversation would read in the face of other shit that was going on (life troubles and complications). The other friend, I felt confident that I knew the reaction based on historical interactions and while I knew my message would likely be well received, it was the niceness of that exchange that troubled me (please, let me explain).
In both instances I had to make myself entirely vulnerable. I had to dig deep into that bag of emotions and pull out the grittiest I had available. Where one friendship was concerned, I was testing its boundaries. Its limits. Our relationship. Could it withstand my emotions? Could I be that raw and candid? Were we those people? Would it read wrong? Would he think less of me? Would he make me feel stupid? Would he think me insensitive or crazy? I didn’t even know the full extent of how I felt either, so I wasn’t sure what was going to come out once I opened the flood gates. I knew the basic premise of what I wanted to share, but once I put that out there, I wasn’t sure how it would make ME feel or what else I would find lurking about.
With another friend, I had to face that the response I usually got was amiable. I would unquestionably be heard out and respected. We would have a perfectly fine conversation. We would placate each other with niceties and then we would go back to where we began. I would find myself in the same place as where I started. Again. I had to decide whether I was ready to take that communication to the next level. Whether I was ready to commit to whatever came next.
In both instances, I had to be ready to lose people that I cared about. In vastly different ways, but still. I had to be ready to face their confusion, judgment, and even disgust. I had to be ready to face their soothing and entirely dishonest bullshit. I had to be ready to ride the wave and come out on the other side, whatever that looked like and wherever that was. I had to do all of that in the face of all the other things I’ve been feeling. All my frustration at work and sadness with goodbyes, and general confusion and fear and anger over COVID. In the face of all of that, I had to do the thing. And I knew I could, that I would. I knew that I would do it in a way that was clunky and mildly regrettable, but only the delivery, not the motivation. Not the thing itself.
For the first exchange, I challenged myself to say all the things I could say within the boundaries of my fear. I challenged myself to be completely exposed. To express the meaning of a relationship that was newer or newly evolved. To recognize the need to change but express distaste over that change, fear. Not to staunch the change because it was happening whether I liked it or not, but to put meaning where it belonged. To look at someone and say ‘you mean something to me.’ To not put a value on that or an expectation of them, but to be able to say that without care to what it means. That’s so hard for me, but I knew, know, that situation warranted it, and so that was that. I knew I could lose this person. Scare them off. Make them question. Shift things. I was prepared. I am prepared.
For the second exchange, I had to hold back. It was no longer time to explain. To discuss. To explore. It was a time to refrain. To change the dynamic. To begin to shift the relationship to the place it belonged to see whether it had the ability to survive. To begin to shift the relationship to see if it meant the same to me in its changed form. If it meant something that I wanted to work for in its new iteration. I had to be ready to look at someone and think ‘you meant something to me, and I care about you deeply, but this friendship needs to change…I want it to change.’ I was prepared. I am prepared.
I’ve spent a good part of my adult life living in fear. Harper Lee once said “she was powerful, not because she wasn’t scared but because she went on so strongly despite the fear.” That’s it. That’s the thing. I’m not telling you not to be scared. I’m telling you to go on strongly in spite of your fear, your fears. I’m telling you that the discomfort you feel during these conversations I’m describing pales in comparison to the pain of living an inauthentic life. Talk soon.
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 