this is me, unedited. I have gray hair and, apparently, a thin spot. I have wrinkles and sometimes bad skin. Bad teeth not pictured.
Your responses to yesterday's post on the yelling have overwhelmed me. I had no idea how it would be received, and so to hear from so many that were thankful to have the topic brought into the light of discussion has given me such comfort and hope.
I have to be honest, though. A few minutes after I hit "publish," I got really uncomfortable. I wanted to go back. I wanted to ameliorate, to tell you, "I mean, really, it's not that bad. I'm not that bad. It's fine."
I had to resist that overwhelming urge to edit.
I've spent the vast majority of my life editing. I'm one of those odd ones who finds inexplicable joy in editing the written word. Correcting, changing, reworking, making better . . . It's actually fun for me. But unfortunately, that knack for repackaging spills over into my non-written-word life. I can give you the edited response for most any question without even thinking about it.
Some time back, Jaime, Laura, and I were entrenched in a prolific email thread. (the blessing of friends who have known me since before I could drive . . . the joy knows no end) We were discussing some things that were coming to the surface for one of us - things we had never really brought out and talked about together. That led to us talking about how amongst the three of us, Jaime and I tended to be the ones who carefully constructed what we revealed to the others while Laura was much more comfortable with the unpolished truth.
Laura gave a great analogy that is so telling. (Apologies to her because I know I am going to mess up the beauty of how she originally phrased it.) She observed that if the three of us were on the Titanic as it sank, Jaime and I would be smiling serenely and politely waving goodbye while she was running back forth on the deck, sobbing while tears and mascara streamed down her cheeks.
Oh, there is so much truth in that. Truth that Jaime and I both fully owned as we reflected on it. I mentioned that Jaime and I are both the oldest children in our family while Laura is the baby, and I wondered if being the oldest (especially oldest girl?) influenced us; if perhaps there is some sort of unspoken responsibility placed on us to keep up appearances.
Regardless of the reason, the truth is that for so long, this has been my default mode:
Smile and nod.
Smile and change the subject.
Smile and wave.
As time marched on and technology changed the way we communicate, I found my ability to deftly edit and avoid evolved as well. My earliest entries on this blog are prime examples of that. You'll find lots and lots of surface discussion, but very little personal revelation. As I mentioned on my guest post at Missy's blog, when my parents divorced in 2006, I uttered not a word of it here. In fact, this was a welcome haven where I didn't have to share or explain a thing.
On Facebook, I've made frequent use of the filter function. If I thought a status update might offend some, I blocked them from seeing it. If I felt a link to an article at HuffPo might rub the wrong way, I was careful and thoughtful about the newsfeeds it would show up in when I posted it.
But, here's the thing.
I'm getting old. I'm getting tired. I'm craving real. I'm craving wholeness.
And so it was a challenge to write yesterday's post, and it was a great challenge to leave it as it is, unpolished truth, unvarnished real. Throughout my columns at Simple Mom and Simple Kids, there is so much that I have shared about the good - no, the best - aspects of who I am as a Mama. But I find that I need to be able to share the hard stuff, the real stuff in my little corner here.
We all know that when we invite transparency into our lives, the first thing it unpacks from its suitcase is risk. I know that being transparent will invite critique. I know that when I speak openly about my struggles as a mother, I am inviting criticism of my parenting approaches just as surely as when I tell you that I use cloth toilet paper, I am inviting criticism of my approaches to bathroom technique. (grin)
I know that when I promise myself to back off of the Facebook filters, I am taking the risk of being defriended or hidden from newsfeeds or, perhaps the most daunting of all, sparking uncomfortable conversation with family and friends.
I know that when I take up the unpopular opinion in face-to-face conversation, I risk offending or being misunderstood.
It's just that my editing pen is running out of ink and my arm aches from all the waving and my masks are cracked beyond repair. And I am still learning how to be in a real way, so there will be moments that are clunky and cringe-worthy. And I won't blame you if the uncomfortable feeling makes you want to turn away.
All I know to say is this - it may not be pretty, but it will be real. It sounds kind of fun, doesn't it? Let's let down our guards and take off our masks. I think you're really quite gorgeous under there.
