Lay it bare

The first words are the most difficult.  When you’ve been silent about something for just long enough, airing out what’s been kept quiet in the soul can feel a bit like trying to unearth the roots of a 30-year-old tree. There’s a whole world of complicated things underneath, but it’s a lot harder than it looks to bring it all to the surface—to expose it. 

I celebrated my 33^rdbirthday 10 days ago. Having officially completed an entire 33 years of life, I can now say that my 33^rdyear was one of the most difficult. 

There were a lot of wounds between 31 and 33-years-old.  A lot of wounds.  In a wide variety of ways, I got hurt. There was betrayal and misunderstanding, manipulation and secrets, a whole lot of submitting and very little defending; there was mom-guilt and mom-shaming, failure, confusion, insults, and lies. There was letting go and saying good-byes and taking leaps that didn’t make sense to anyone but The Spirit. I limped into the beginning of summer like a wounded animal who had gotten so used to the limp that it was genuinely content and at peace with it.  

Was there a cure for it?  Probably.  

I knew a period of time was coming when I’d be able to ‘heal’—whatever the heck that meant—but I had to get to that place and there was a lot between ‘here’ and ‘there’ that had to happen first. Then, 2 months and 4 days before turning 33, I experienced a significant trauma. 

And for the last 2 months and 14 days, I’ve been pretty quiet about my life in general, especially publicly. Somehow in the process it became really difficult to share anything about my life—it felt strange, almost meaningless. It felt, maybe feels, unnatural to share both the simple things of life and the big things—like what’s the point? In the shadows of witnessing massive loss, trauma, and grief what matters anymore?

I’ve been asking that a lot in my head. Why share? What good does it do to share any parts of my life with the general public in any way? Like, seriously, who cares? 

It sounds a little bleak, I know. Trust me, I know. Try to remember, friends, I was a wounded animal—and wounded animals hide. 

Wait, do they hide? Okay I don’t’ really know, but they should hide, because something out there for sure wants to eat them.

A week or so ago a friend posted about seeing these flowers around town that everyone refers to as ‘naked ladies’. She commented on how they remind her of her mother who had recently gone to be with Jesus, because they both found it bizarre and humorous that the tiny, conservative town walked around calling these flowers ‘naked ladies’ without batting an eye. It was a tender post about love and relationships and loss. I liked it and I love the woman who shared it. 

In the few days after reading her post, I spotted naked ladies all around me!! (take that quote out of context, would ya?)  Seriously, though, these flowers that certainly didn’t sprout up in the neighborhood overnight were suddenly visible to me. I stopped, almost surprised, every time I saw them and took a few moments to bless my friend in prayer. I assumed the purpose of noticing them was to cue me to pray, but on the third day in a row of noticing a cluster of my new-found friends, a thought came to me; whispered in my ear like a breeze you weren’t expecting: perhaps we share because sharing helps us see things better.

Maybe when we share our journeys with each other—close friends or strangers on the internet—people are invited into an opportunity to see better: the world and other people, but also their own lives and hearts. When we hear the testimonies of others, things that were once foggy or completely invisible suddenly become apparent.

The anxiety and excitement of starting something new

The hardship of battling cancer

The joys of new life being welcomed into the world

The pain of goodbyes

The life-lessons of young people moving into their first dorm or setting off into the ‘real world’

The humors of making mistakes or the stuff children say

The grief of injustice

The plight of humankind

The triumphs of goodness

The rush of a risk or leap of faith

The joys and struggles of parenting

The loneliness of depression

The elation of falling-in-love

The need for more foster-parents

The fear of failure when chasing your dreams

The victory of accomplishing a goal

The suffering of the oppressed

The experiences of those different than us

Sometimes when we bear witness to the testimonies of others, we see people, ourselves, and situations more clearly. When you share something about your own life or something stirring in your own heart, perhaps something you’re learning or a unique way you’ve engaged with the world, it might just give sight to someone where they need it most. 

I had worried that sharing about my life and my journey was vain and self-serving. Why share when the world doesn’t need more noise?  (Again, bleak I know—just try to think of Bambi with a festering wound in his leg).  But perhaps sharing is really about all of us; perhaps sharing is about eyes that see the world better. Eyes that see not only others better, but also ourselves. Sometimes the sight I gain from hearing someone else helps something in my own heart grow or heal. Maybe, just maybe, this is why we share—especially in the suffering and in the stretching and in the growing and in the strengthening. Or maybe we should all just run and hide like wounded animals when we’ve been hurt. I mean, it is an option. It’s probably our instinct, but I have a hunch that we heal and grow better when we share.

So, here’s to the journey of laying it all bare.