A Goddess in a Cave in the Woods

I’ve been thinking a lot about honesty, lately.

Let’s be honest. Some lies are very useful. As a teen, the blinders that kept me from acknowledging my mother’s alcoholism also allowed me to not be overcome by anxiety, grief and depression. The lies were self-preserving as I took care of my sister and brother and kept going to school and kept pretending I had a normal life.

I applied to colleges. (Well, at least I sent in applications. I only fully completed the process for one school, my back-up option, the in-state university I knew I could afford with loans.)

I acted in school plays. (And spent extra-long hours working on lights, rehearsals, sets, so that I didn’t spend as much time at home.)

I sang solos in chorus. (And when my mom was so drunk that she forgot to come to my senior concert, I made up lots of excuses. None of which I actually believed that time.)

But, truth eventually snuck in. It always does, doesn’t it? It hits you right in the middle of the chest. You can’t breathe, the world tilts, and your carefully constructed facade begins to crack. Sometimes you’re able to patch it up again, twist the truth away into more falsehood, protect the fragile you inside the walls.

The break comes when you start to question what exactly you’re protecting. I did that, and very slowly, painfully, I began to learn how to be honest.

I learned that my life isn’t always easy, but it’s always an interesting adventure. I learned that the real me didn’t need any embellishment. I learned that if you let people see you as you truly are, and they still like you, it is much more rewarding and amazing and humbling than if they like you for some false self. And, most importantly, I learned that there is freedom in being honest.

I struggled for a long time to fully embrace honesty. That’s why I say my honesty was hard-won, and why I’m not willing to give it up.

Over the last year, I’ve brought honesty to a whole new level within myself. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I truly don’t believe in a god. That I put my faith in people, and in love, but not in god. I’ve come to accept that I really want everyone to get along and for there to be no conflict, but that isn’t realistic. I’ve realized that the pseudo-science I grew up accepting is false and often dangerous, and that I’ve made mistakes in accepting the heartfelt convictions of others over the evidence of science. I’ve embraced that the fairy tales I grew up believing aren’t quite true, and that love isn’t as easy as one rescuer knight on a white horse taking me away from all of my problems.

And do you know what? It’s been very painful at times to be honest, to accept my mistakes, to change my mind, to let the real me be enough. Especially because my honesty makes some people uncomfortable. There are people in my life that preferred me as the pleasing liar. Or who approve of my honesty, but only to a point. Those people feel that there are some things that just shouldn’t be discussed, shouldn’t be admitted, shouldn’t be. Unfortunately for them, honesty is all or nothing with me. Hiding and dishonesty is a slippery slope, and I’m not willing to give up the real me I’ve come to adore, just to make people more comfortable.

Oh, I try not to shove all of my truth in your face. I don’t think I’m aggressive or argumentative. But if you ask me my thoughts, or my beliefs, or if you want to know more about me, then, yes, I’ll answer honestly. Always. Probably in a long-winded manner. And the truth may be more than you’re comfortable knowing. But, and this is important, I respect your right to be honest, too.

Disagreeing with someone I care about, or facing rejection and disapproval because of my honesty, hurts. It hurts a lot. But I’m not willing to close off to protect myself from the pain. I’ll put myself out there, I’ll feel it all. And it’s all worth it.

Because this is me. This is who I am. And honesty makes me feel free.