Honesty – Is it Really the Best Policy?

Honesty intimacy

 

A friend and I recently had a “discussion” over social media about the elderly and how they (some of them anyway- maybe most?) lose their filter and really don’t care what they say- whether it’s offensive or not. My mother and grandmother had a really bad case of this- my grandmother would say whatever seemed to enter her mind, completely filter-free for as long as I knew her. Or, well let’s just say if she had a filter, wow- I can’t imagine what her unfiltered thoughts were. My mother grew more verbally open the older she got, and the sicker she got. I guess when you know you’re about to meet your maker, you gotta say what comes to mind. I’m kinda okay with that. It really was pretty embarrassing at times though. Especially the time she gave the pastor the finger. And could be hurtful. But I don’t hold it against her- she is forgiven.

 

I was an only child and I will totally admit- I’ve never really been an adequate communicator. When things go south with anyone, I typically will keep it in and rot inside- which is probably why I have to drink Mylanta. I have often felt that I didn’t have a voice. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I don’t deserve to have an opinion. I’m not anyone special- so I don’t deserve to speak my truth. I feel this line of thinking has been a breach in my integrity. In finding myself again, I am going to have to verbalize who I am and what I want, and maybe even why. Clearly and concisely. In good times and bad. I got stuff to say.

 

So- I’m gonna start communicating- and letting the chips fall where they may. I’m gonna do It until I get it right. I’m sure I’ll mess up a lot as I try. It will be like a baby learning to walk. I’ll fall down and pick myself back up. I’m gonna say what’s on my mind (and not just via text or social media). I’m sure I’ll say things I wish I hadn’t said. People will receive what I say wrongly. But that’s just the way it is. I am going to start being true to who I am, developing me, trying to learn what makes me tick- again. The Word says I’m fearfully and wonderfully made, and I’m excited to speak my truth. I’m kinda looking forward to it.

 

The rest of the world, however- the rest of the world may need to duck.

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An Open Letter to the Daughter I Love and Lost

I have too many of these sleepless nights- it has been five years since you left home, equated to when I “lost” you, and I can only imagine that this is similar to what a grieving mother must feel when they no longer have contact with a deceased child. Not to minimize what they go through, because at least you’re still here….somewhere.

You try to say I changed somewhere along the line but the only thing that changed was I just got sicker. Nothing else. Body got sicker, mind got sicker. Psyche and emotions got sicker. But you were never there to see the gradual changes so I’m sure the changes to you were shocking. You expect me to approve of and even applaud changes in you, but you won’t tolerate any changes in me. You won’t stop to consider what can and can’t be helped. There seems to be so much hypocrisy and so many double standards.

Sometimes you fight really hard to try to make things work, and it’s like trying to push a square peg into a round hole. It just doesn’t work. I tried and tried to make things right. I hope you know I did. I hope you understand I just had to let go. Hanging on was killing me. More every day. It was draining every bit of life I had left in me which wasn’t much life at all. I just had to let you go, leaving you in God’s hands, and hope that one day you’ll care about me more than feminism or human rights or any other platform. Or hell, caring even just a little would be okay. Reminder- I’m a human. I truly do realize my mistakes, probably every one, probably even more than you know. Past and present. I can assure you that I have acknowledged them. It’s love, family, and most importantly God that holds family together despite our mistakes.

I would love to have my sweet girl back. I miss her so. I love you to the moon and back, a bushel and a peck, more than life.

Mama