Taking Off the Mask

I woke super early this morning with about a hundred ideas of what to blog about and the desire to write them all at once. Finally some reprieve from blogger's block that had me stuck for the last couple of years, staring terrifyingly at the little white box with the hope that eventually words would come and I could click the little orange button and "publish post".  Once in a great while I was able to eek out a few words, but nothing like the hum that used to go on in my head with a steady stream of things to blog about.  Now I know that this hum was silenced when it was for the best.  Though people often slow as they pass the scene of an accident, nobody really appreciates the eye full of mangled metal as much when there is a person among the wreckage.  I was that person. The wreckage was my life. The EMTs and tow trucks and insurance companies needed to work unhindered behind the scenes to provide emergency medical care, clear the debris and assess the losses.

I have shared on this blog some of my deepest fears, most vulnerable weaknesses, embarrassing antics and personal anguish with no regrets.  As Gary and I were laying in bed last night in those precious moments before sleep, he asked me if I ever worried about unguarded way that I share and put myself out there in the blogosphere. I ruminated on that a while before dozing off and woke this morning to the comment on the last post from "Anonymous" who said "it's raw and it's real......... and it's beautiful".  This comment validated my personal principle for writing - to fling my heart wide open and share with little hesitation.  I do work hard to create a balance of maintaining privacy and dignity for those who are crazy enough to walk through life beside me, while maintaining authenticity.   I could write exclusively about the best parts of my life in the hopes that everyone would want to be me in this fabricated life I'd conjure for public consumption, and be the author of a blog nobody would want to read, including me.  It is my resolve to be as real as I can and in so doing, help other people with similar struggles to know they are not alone.  This process of self-discovery that I'm in the midst of can only flourish if I am validating others - and we can do that only if we are each willing to take off our respective masks.


(A note to Anonymous - I feel like I should know who you are - but sadly once I started sharing my story - so many women who were surviving various levels of abusive relationships were contacting me. I still get emails and blog comments and Facebook messages asking for help for a friend or some advice on how to get through the worst of it. If you don't want to identify yourself here - please send me a message on Facebook or an email at julsnwv AT gmail DOT com. I'd like to know who you are so I can follow your story.)

Can I Be Authentic?

I have always prided myself on being authentic. I share what I am feeling, and do so openly with others. One thing I found when I became a believer is that a lot of people seemed to candy-coat their troubles with smiles, a lot of "God is in control" jargon (not that He isn't in control but that it seemed a crutch versus a true belief as if they were convincing themselves in the saying so), or a sick and twisted martyrdom that seemed to relish the pain.

I had a friend admonish me for some of the dramatic things I was posting as my status updates on Facebook. I appreciated the feedback. It made me take a step back and look at how this was being conveyed. I was wearing my hurt on my sleeve for all of the world to see. This was very helpful. It made the me think about my audience, and what I want to share. This post is not meant in any way to be a rebuttal of what I learned from that person's words, but some things God has clarified in my heart.

In tossing this around, I started to think of people in the Bible and how they handled pain. I remembered these words of Job in his distress:

"Obliterate the day I was born. Blank out the night I was conceived! Let it be a black hole in space. May God above forget it ever happened. Erase it from the books! May the day of my birth be buried in deep darkness, shrouded by fog, swallowed by the night. And the night of my conception - the devil take it! Rip the date off the calendar, delete it from the alamanac. Oh, turn that night into pure nothingness - no sounds of pleasure from that night, ever! May those who are good at cursing curse that day."

How's that for drama? I know that my losses may not stack up to those that were suffered by Job, but they are losses nonetheless. I think that there is a time and a place for lamenting. It may not have been as public as Facebook is for Job or King David, but I don't believe it was done with their head buried in their pillow behind closed doors all the time either. This given the fact that we have their words of lament to read centuries later. This shared human hurt is a place where we all connect.

I have been lonely. I have been sick. I have been burned by love. I have given and been denied what I gave in return. I have lost my house, my kids, my job. I have been kicked when I was down. I have been put down, torn up, and shut out. We can all relate to these statements and somewhere along the way, this kind of sharing helps us to feel that we truly aren't alone. Another person can say, "I was where you are, and I survived to hold your hand while you go through it."

Too often I think we want a quick fix for everybody. I think that the suffering of other people often makes us uncomfortable. We want a drive-thru spiritual fix for these deep rooted issues, these lifelong hurts and there is no such thing. Sometimes we have to see people at their worst - I know that the people who have met me in the last year have seen me at the worst possible time of my life. It is what it is. As some healing starts to take place, things are shifting. I've been leaning on things that remind me so much of the snow I fell in yesterday - when I try to brace myself in the wrong places, I find I just sink deeper.

I really don't understand a culture that will spend so much money on watching the fictionalized drama of people on TV or in the movies, who are so unwilling to deal with the real life pain and problems of people right next to them. I don't know what God is doing with this wreck that I am. But I do know this, I have His permission to lament, to question His love for me, to doubt and fear. He isn't afraid of any of that. He can handle it. It has been through those moments that His love and care for me have become most real and absolutely tangible. Maybe I'll share it on Facebook - maybe I won't, but if I do - both sides of the story will appear over time - both the hurt and the doubt, followed at some point by the healing and the comfort. If others are uncomfortable then they can feel free to look away, with my blessings.