Truth

People relate to me because I am telling the truth.

Familiar with the movie “Liar, Liar” (Jim Carey), right? In the movie, the main character, a lawyer dad who is always bullshitting his way through life to avoid disappointing the people he loves, loses his ability to do this. He is forced to tell the brutal, honest, inside of his head truth.

That is what happened to me because of my “low power” mode of September 23.

I lost the ability to lie; I was forced to tell the truth.

To myself. Yep, ouch.

Lie…pretend…at the end of the day, it’s all the same.

That is where this wild ride of healing began. I started telling myself the truth. Not the truth I was conditioned to believe, but the truth of my being. Not the truth I was sold, wrapped up into the bow of “this is just how it’s always been done”, but the truth of my unique, authenticity. I stopped pretending I didn’t deserve to hear my own compassionate advice; I stopped quieting my own voice.

I am not here for likes, subscribers, views, shares, and bullshit algorithm games. I am here because I know I am not alone. Isn’t that exactly why social media exists? To validate the belief that you are not alone in this world, in this life; there are other people out there with pink water build up rings, dog hair tumbleweeds and $35 in their bank account.

I recognize that my biggest source of pain is also my greatest gift…I understand human behavior.

I get it. And I am telling the truth.

The ugly, messy truth. The real-life truth.  

And you know what they say about the truth, “speaking it [the truth] will set you free”.

The truth is I have allowed people throughout my life to treat me in ways that make me sad for that version of myself.

Your brain and nervous system will ALWAYS work together to keep you safe. If, a stressful, chaotic environment with low expectations of treatment is what felt safe…then, guess what? Those types of relationships will feel safe as well. That is, until you stop lying to yourself. When you tell yourself the truth you can acknowledge that the way you were treated was not ideal. And knowing the why is not going to solve that pain.

First, acknowledge that you were hurt. Even if for thirty something years you pretended that something did not bother you, but it did, acknowledge that to yourself now. Whether you speak it, write it, or cry it out of your system. Tell yourself the truth.

For example.

When I was 9 or 10 years old, we were driving home from my dad’s company picnic. We had spent the day in the sun, with all you can eat ice cream and back then, no one drank water. Cue my childhood migraines. I tell my parents that I am going to vomit (we are in the car). They ask me, “do you think you can hold it”? (As if at this point in my life, vomiting was a choice). I’m sure I “people pleased” the answer because as my dad turned left, I unrolled the window and stuck my head out to vomit. And did I ever. The memory of the mess is worse than the memory of the incident in and of itself. Me and your dog have a shared experience, and while I retell the story in a way that could evoke laughter, the adult in me said, what in the actual fuck?!? They did not pull the car over for me or assess my level of nausea. They knew we were ten minutes from home, and they held on to hope that my nausea was not that serious. (If you are a new parent, this is a good time for me to tell you that you should not assume your kid can hold it or is bluffing about having to poop, pee, or puke. Remember that and you’ll be good.) The cherry on the car sick sundae? I was the person required to clean up the car vomit. To include the seat belt crevice, the parts of the vinyl on the door that did not fare well in the incident, the runner of the car door.

When I recalled this incident, I knew that it was wrong. That it was not necessarily malicious because I don’t believe that; I do believe it was a situation where a parent refused to change their position, supported the bad position and then punished the child for it. I’m not finished with my master’s yet, but I know enough to know that is a lived example of gas lighting. So, I supposed I would say, I was “gas lit”?

The why of this situation (naive parents who did not know how to validate a child’s experience) does not change the fact that I spoke up for myself and indicated I had a need to be addressed. I was told to hang on to that need and suppress it until it was convenient for everyone else. When I could no longer do that, I created a bigger mess because of physics. This is where the pattern of accepting crap behavior from others comes from, or starts from. When I see 9- or 10-year-old Melissa, cleaning that mess up and believing it was her fault, I simply acknowledge how shitty that must have felt. Knowing that there was not malice intended does not soften it, though in some cases it could. I stopped pretending that the car-vomit incident did not bother me or have a lingering affect on the way I process situations psychologically.

I told myself the truth. This situation was shitty, and I carried it with me into adulthood. It is a core memory of people pleasing and learning that my needs were an inconvenience.

Rewind the tape. Talk to the you that was there. Tell yourself the truth by acknowledging your experience and how you felt. Then, you will start to open your door to freedom