Learning to tell the truth means getting honest about our emotions and about our motivations. Learning to tell the truth means getting honest about our pain and our limitations, about our hopes and our dreams. Learning to tell the truth means learning how to tell those things to other people, yes, but possibly more important than anything else, it means learning how to tell these truths to ourselves.
I grew up in a world that liked it’s boxes.
It liked being able to slot people and activities and music and styles of dress and relationships and beliefs neatly into categories that they then used to judge those very beliefs and relationships and styles of dress and music and activities and people.
The world I grew up in claimed it’s boxes from a religious perspective but other worlds I know claim them from cultural, socio-economic or simply ‘tribal’ bases.
None of us can possibly be completely honest about our stories. We will always have gaps in our understanding and information that is missing or incomplete because of our perspective. I am not suggesting here that we have to get every single fact correct and tell every single detail of our stories. I don’t think that’s necessary.
But for many of us – myself especially – shame and guilt and a fear of judgment kept me from telling much of my story for a very long time – to either myself or to those around me.
On Monday I talked about honesty – in telling the truth, and in not failing to tell the truth.
I talked about honesty that was based on love, not fear.
About whether our honesty is about connecting more deeply or about the avoidance of punishment and pain.
But today I want to go deeper.
Because I know that for me – and for many, many others – there are multiple layers of truth that we simply do not acknowledge.
Truth that we completely fail to realize exists.