This little thing called sharing your heart

I have attempted to write out my thoughts on transparency, sharing, testimonies, openness... every word you can think of that encompasses the notion of being honest and true with others about your thoughts and struggles. I've spent the past few years on the side of the fence that says, no, I will not open up. Why should I? I mean, I don't necessarily want the pain inside of me to fester, but there is a certain vulnerability and sacrifice to spilling the beans about what goes on in our hearts and minds. I have never shared my testimony in front of a group of people, and the first time I ever shared my past and struggles with a close friend, the relationship ended on a sour note. I felt betrayed, felt as though everything I put out on display on an act of trust and duty in a friendship was being mocked and abused. The best word I can think of to describe it is nakedness. It's like you've decided against better judgment to take a late night skinny dip, but your best friend takes your clothes away when you're not looking and won't give them back. You make the long trek back to camp, where you're forced to enter a building with the spotlights on you as soon as you enter. Even if you try to explain what happened and lay the blame elsewhere, they can't see past your nakedness. Everything they heard, and now can see, is the only truth. That haunts you. I always take pride in the fact that it takes a lot to embarrass me, but there is nothing that makes me feel more insecure than other people knowing what only I myself should know.

The only version of "transparency" that I understood for a couple years was the idea that, any time someone asks you a personal question, you must disclose the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If someone asks you how your day is going, "fine" is not an acceptable answer. Fine is a mask. Fine is a buzz word that gives the inquisitor permission to dig deep - and hard. That's what I always thought, and my experiences with people who value "transparency" made this a reality. I once had an acquaintance reprimand me for repeatedly answering similar questions with "fine" or "okay." "Sarah, we both know you aren't fine. You should tell me what's going on." That comment took a lot for me to recover. I was angry when that happened, because I felt forced and attacked. I felt like I wasn't being allowed to feel the way I genuinely believed I felt, like I was lying to myself constantly and everyone could tell. Maybe that was true in some sense, but I still don't feel as though it is up to other people to tell me what's going on in my mind. I've come to realize a key tenet of transparency that many people miss: relationship.

I think that the words this person spoke to me had a negative impact because we did not have a relationship. She probably had really good intentions, I don't doubt that. I don't think she went out of her way to hurt me. But I also think there is some tiny bit of arrogance with people who believe they have every right to expect people to tell absolutely everything to them. It's like having a best friend in  elementary school who said things to you like, "come on, just tell me! I'm your best friend!" I think something in us tells us that a close relationship warrants some sort of obligation to inside information. You tell your best friend who you have a crush on. You tell your best friend the juiciest gossip. You're embarrassed to share your grade with the smart kid in the class, but you'll probably tell your best friend when he or she asks. Relationships build trust, and trust warms us up to the idea of taking off a few more layers of metaphorical clothing. But a second point I am trying to drive home here is that, just because the relationship and trust exists, does not mean we will ever share everything. It's a choice, not a requirement. I have very close friends that I still haven't shared things with. I have been in a relationship with someone for nearly six years and they still don't know everything I struggle with. I'm not saying that I have an answer, because I don't. I only know that relationship and time are important factors in getting to a place where openness is slightly less intimidating.

I started writing this because the past couple weeks have marked a turning point in my views about transparency and honesty. I'm not certain exactly where it came from, what sparked it, who said what, but I know this: I let go of some deep, dark, painful burdens and something happened. That something absolutely terrifies me because of the fear and vulnerability attached to it all, and there hasn't been a day in the past week where I haven't wondered if I've made an awful, life-altering mistake. What is this person going to think of me now? What if what I said was too weird? What happens if they don't want to talk to me anymore? But I've always seen the value in sharing life stories because you never know when you'll hear something that will squeeze so much conviction and understanding and love into your heart that you just burst, "oh my goodness, I've struggled with the same thing and thought I was the only one!" I said something against years of internal judgment where I've thought, this is too painful, no one will understand, it's just too much of a burden to tell someone. What if they worry? But the response astounded me: I feel the same way. I won't think differently of you. I care about you. And the best part? Their actions matched their words. It wasn't a scripted, "this is what I'm supposed to say" kind of thing. They actually cared!

It's so ridiculous to me in hindsight: I used to hear this sort of thing about it feeling so freeing and refreshing and peaceful to give your pain and sin over to God, because really, that's what I did. I never believed that would truly happen. I don't doubt God's power, his ability to heal and help me discern when to speak and when not to speak. I think in the past where I've told people things, it was only because I felt it was expected of me. I talked, yet still didn't trust anyone or anything. I wanted to feel valued and thought telling someone all my deepest secrets would make them be a better friend or want to be with me more. But this time, I trusted this feeling inside of me that told me there was nothing else I could say or do in that moment. I needeed to talk, but it was more than words that weren't going to do anything but fall on idle ears.

I think I am going to wrap this up now, though I do have a few more thoughts on speaking and listening that I will get to another time. Something to think about:
how different our lives would be if we were certain we would still feel loved when we were open with people.

I'm not okay

I prayed for contentment. It didn't work. Or maybe I didn't allow it to work because I like having a reason to be angry. I don't know.