Over the past few months I have opened up to people in a way I never have before. To a few people in my life I have been pretty transparent over the years, but only to the extent that I was to myself, which was not whole by any means. As I re-embarked upon recovery, I slowly realized that I could no longer lie and more importantly that I could no longer lie to myself. At first I was simply thinking the truth, and then I began to speak the truth and finally I began to write the truth in all it's misshapen glory.
I have mentioned before that writing has helped me quiet my mind. My marriage counselor describes me as having a restless mind. I don't mean that I have symptoms of ADHD, but that though my thoughts are largely organized, they are at times bigger than me and they swirl around in a maelstrom. I have discovered that when I write, they funnel into a concentrate I can handle; they materialize into a form I can embrace and then release. I heard someone in a meeting once say that being an alcoholic meant that he was a natural liar and even in recovery he could not trust the words that came out of his mouth, but that when he wrote he could not lie if he tried. I understand that completely. There is enough pause when I write that my natural default of half truths does not kick in and I produce honesty in its purest personal form.
Once I decided that my journey necessitated laying these pieces of truth out on a platter to be sampled by anyone who might so desire, I also decided to hold little back. I did check with Frank and make sure he was comfortable with me mentioning him and mentioning the kids. He gifted me with the freedom to do so, telling me he had no desire to censor me in any way and that I should go ahead and follow my instincts. I have, and the reaction has been many and varied. I have heard from some who think I am courageous, I have heard from people who are relieved for me, I have heard that some are uncomfortable with the degree of my openness and I am sure that some people think I am airing my dirty laundry. What has been most surprising is how I feel about it myself and what has been most powerful is how it has affected others in a positive way.
The day that I posted the piece entitled "Freeing the Black Dragon" I heard from so many. Some had known of my childhood and wanted to offer love and support. Others had not known and offered the same along with their disbelief and sadness. But most of the people that I heard from that day wanted to let me know that they had had similar experiences and that reading about mine made them feel less alone. I was honored to hear their stories and to acknowledge their pain. I can't fix their pasts nor can I tell them how to heal but I can validate what has happened and move forward in solidarity to a brighter future.
The more that I share and the more that I lay at the feet of those reading my blog, the more congruent the conversations I am experiencing with others. The more I crack open my old armor and let light shine into my soul, the more I get back from others that chose to reach out and shine their lights on me. Not speaking out has hindered me all my life but the thought of revelation chilled me to the bone with fear. I trembled in the face of the nakedness of spirit I knew it would require.
It is a curious thing, this act of chosen vulnerability. It is so much less frightening than I expected, so much less challenging. The more of my truth that I speak, the stronger I get and the more fulfilling my interactions with my fellow imperfect souls.
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