I don’t know what to say most of the time these days.
It feels like there’s so much to say and yet most of it feels better left in conversations with the people actually in my life. I’m still learning to do that. All truths told, I’m way more comfortable writing my way through life, polishing it up until it’s fit for public consumption. That hasn’t previously felt like a bad thing, and it’s not always. But I’m learning that to some degree, it’s kept me from developing the muscle of being fully present in any given moment, of letting life just be messy instead of trying to sculpt it into something beautiful to be given away.
Pretty much nothing about life is pretty this week. I’m sitting in the middle of my own muck, staring at the unhealthy tendencies I’ve harbored my whole life. That’s an interesting moment, for sure. I think most of us craft a life that allows us to avoid looking at ourselves. We craft a life that allows us to run, as soon as the ache starts. Run to work. Run to entertainment. Run to social media. Run to blaming someone else. Run to all the reasons we’re a really good person and if we just stick this one thing over in the corner, maybe no one will notice it.
And yet, I’ve not found that to be true. The parts of ourselves we hide from don’t sit quietly in corners. They don’t shrink away in convenient moments. Quite the opposite, I’m finding. The parts of ourselves we hide from expand. They take up an increasing amount of space over time.
That’s where I am right now. This past year of my life has been lit up with growth, with piles and piles of good things that I want to keep adding to. And yet, this week it feels like my pile of good things bumped up against the parts of myself I’m hiding from. The deep work I just do not want to do, because it will be hard and painful. It will piss more than a few people off. I became this person for a reason; I shaved off my honesty for a reason, reasons that look like specific faces of specific people in my life, and if I reclaim it completely? It’s not going to be pretty.
And yet—there is no more space for good things until I deal with the elephant in the room. The one that wasn’t an elephant for a long time. It didn’t feel like an elephant until the day I realized I can’t go any farther until I get it the hell out of the room. Suddenly, when it’s keeping me from continuing to grow, continuing to add to this pile of dreams and possibilities and relationships I want to keep forever—
It feels like an elephant now.