A few months ago my youngest, who was still 7 at the time, cautiously approached me to tell me there was something wrong with our dog. After a quick inspection, I discovered there was nothing wrong with her, but she did have a rather large pen mark on the bridge of her white nose.
‘Okay’, I said, ‘what happened?’, and, I quickly added, ‘please don’t lie.’
She proceeded to tell me a very tall tale about the cat drawing on the dog.
I tried to keep a straight face (because this was actually pretty hilarious and cute) while I reiterated to her the importance of telling the truth – and the absurdity of the cat being able to hold a felt pen, let alone draw.
Between our two girls there have been plenty of, shall we say, ‘teachable moments’ about telling the truth.
But I’ve been thinking lately about how I role model truth-telling for them. How many times I haven’t told the truth. About the things that really matter.
And there’s one thing that matters to me above all else.
Telling the truth about who I really am
It’s important because all the best stuff happens when I am honest about who I am. When I hide behind other personas, sh$t generally tends to hit the fan.
I often thought I’d make a pretty good actor because I’m actually fairly adept at being someone I’m not. This was hard-wired in me from birth. As an adoptee, I have lived most of my life (and certainly the first three decades) attempting to figure out the version of me that would be the most acceptable. The one that is the least likely to be rejected by those around me.
But apart from this causing a whole bunch of extra pain, I constantly felt like something was ‘off’ or missing.
I was missing the real me.
I couldn’t find her, most days I couldn’t even see her through the fog of perceived expectations.
I tried very hard to be a ‘good girl’ and to fit into the moulds that society had created for me. But it never worked.
I think I always knew my truth, who I really was. But I lacked the courage to be her.
Slowly, over a few tough years and circumstances, I began to tip-toe into truth-telling.
It began with things like saying no to things I didn’t want to do. I began to play with the idea of liking myself for who I was, rather than what I thought I wanted to be.
I started questioning the status quo and asking myself ‘is this really what you want?’.
It was working. The real me was there and cautiously showing herself.
The real me wanted a slower pace of life and a lot more time outside in nature. She needed lots of white space and silence. That was me and it often didn’t fit into the extroverted mould that the world had carved out for me.
The most authentic parts of myself could no longer stand particular injustices. And was ashamed of how I’d swallowed certain institutional values, without once questioning them.
It was uncomfortable to ask these questions and to stand up where I’d previously sat quietly, but it had started to get very painful to keep still and quiet.
I think finding myself has been a long process, and it’s not finished. It won’t ever be finished. I am made of up every part of me that’s lived, and has yet to be lived.
But I’m not afraid of who that is anymore. I am (mostly) confident and like myself enough to put my real self into the world.
Here is part of the letter I wrote to my future self last year;
Hello beautiful girl
It’s me, from the future.
I want to tell you a couple of things;
Inside you, slowly birthing, is a strong, powerful wahine.
Ahead of you is a rough road. Trauma that will create deep scars.
But, my love. You can do this. I’m cheering you on from ahead.
I love you.
You are a wonderful specimen.
Don’t worry about the others, you know the light within YOU is true and good.
Be YOU.
Together, we can do hard things, my love.
I wanted to warn the little girl with the green eyes and corduroy overalls that there would be hard times ahead. And to cheer her on.
But the truth is we can’t prepare anyone for life. Life is deeply exhausting, traumatic and beautiful. And there’s no real getting away from it.
If I could read that little 6-year old a story from the future, I’d read to her from the book ‘We’re going on a Bear Hunt’.
We’re goin’ on a bear hunt,
We’re going to catch a big one,
I’m not scared
What a beautiful day!
Oh look! It’s some long, wavy grass!
Can’t go over it,
Can’t go under it,
Can’t go around it,
Got to go through it!
I’d tell her not to be scared. And to focus on the beauty around her. If her fear bubbled up I’d try and distract her with the long wavy grass.
And lastly, I’d tell her the truth, that the only way to go, is to go through it. To push through and tell the truth about who she is, even when it’s uncomfortable.
And I want to be a role model for my own girls, in truth-telling about the big things that really matter.
I’m wondering if there are some truths you need to tell yourself at the moment?
If you could write a letter to your future self, what would you tell them?
If you aren’t comfortable in your own skin, and keep bumping up against anxiety, depression, addiction, anger and resentment, then may I suggest, as Brene Brown has, that you are trading your authenticity to be liked?
Finding your true self isn’t hard or expensive, but it does take time and a whole bunch of truth-telling.
If you are interested in a structured program to help you dig for your true, authentic self, then I highly recommend this course, called Finding You.
Finding You is open for new registrations at the end of April and I can’t say enough good stuff about the content. It was pivotal for me in taking the next steps of my journey to becoming more authentic.
Cheering you on as always,
Emma
