I’m having trouble with this whole honesty thing this week – this idea of freedom. It’s hard! Today, I feel like a fraud. Doing a stellar job of deceiving myself into thinking I truly wanted to be honest. To truly be free. I admitted being needy – a huge admission for me. And that underneath all of the crap is someone beautiful, someone worth knowing all of. At this moment, I think that statement may have been complete and utter bullshit! In my quest to embrace honesty, I’ve uncovered some pretty ugly places inside of me. I’m not sure I’m really ready to face them.
Oh, I think they have always been there. Kind of like that family member you never want to introduce to your friends. As long as I didn’t talk about them, they didn’t exist did they? At least not in my world. Not in the one I so cleverly crafted for everyone else to be a part of. But when I finally decide I want my freedom, they decide to come out and play and they don’t know how to play fair! All of my insecurity and shame are perfect playmates for the hurt I hold onto in order to punish myself for not being good enough.
Putting those feelings into words is like breathing life into something I really wish would just rot in the hell I summoned it from. It spews forth like poison seeking to destroy all the good things that being honest has given me and doing a damn good job of robbing me of my new found freedom.
I hate her, this hurt can’t let go of. I can’t seem to make my way out of the black hole she’s opened in my heart. I can’t find my lifelines (the ones God said I needed to let go of). Can’t find my life. The life in which I want honesty. The one where I live in freedom. The one where I can admit to being needy. The one where I believe I’m beautiful . . .