Around a year ago, I took three days and stopped talking.
And watching tv. And using the computer. And texting.
I just had me, and my books, and a notepad, and silence.
And I’m going to do the same again this week, for the next three days.
I don’t do anything special. I don’t go on a retreat or anything.
I don’t want to sit in silence and sleep in a bag in a house of strangers. Not for me.
So I stay home and I unplug.
And I love it.
I watched a documentary in Netflix about a year ago called something like Stress: The Silent Killer. I didn’t think it was very good. But I think stress does kill you.
I was under the vague impression that stress is synonymous with success for years. It’s difficult for me to try and dissect the logic, because it makes no sense, but I’ll try.
Being stressed meant I was important
Because it meant I was trusted with such a high volume of work
That obviously nobody else could do.
Being stressed meant that I cared
Because if I didn’t care I wouldn’t get stressed about it.
Being stressed made me valuable
Somehow.
Being stressed, to me, was the same thing as taking action.
Being stressed was the solution to a problem
Like stress is somehow the opposite of apathy.
Being stressed meant I felt “good shame” about my failures
So people wouldn’t lose faith in me
Or think I was lazy
Or narcissistic.
Stress was a way to fake self awareness.
Stress meant trying to propel my brain and body into action
Fight or flight.
This morning I was feeling stressed about yesterday, because I spent so much of it gossiping and being negative.
When you trash talk someone, even if what you’re saying is technically true, you’re always and forever afterwards, even subconsciously, awaiting the karmic payback. Dreading being found out. The fear of having someone do the same to you. Revenge.
This morning I was feeling stressed about money.
I’m going broke. Nobody wants to hire me. I don’t have any good business ideas. I’m young, and I’m stupid, and I keep making mistakes. Mistakes don’t feel like small humps to me, they feel like I’m dying.
This morning I was stressed about what I want to do with my life.
I haven’t done anything. I don’t have a college education. And I don’t think I want one. I barely made it through high school. I rarely even turned up. I’m not particularly passionate about anything, though I’m interested in lots of things.
This morning I was stressed because my house is dirty.
And I hate cleaning.
And then I decided that I don’t want to do this anymore.
That if I want to live, then I can’t do it anymore.
My life is weird right now. It’s changing. A lot. And I don’t know if it’s for the better or not. That’s what makes telling the truth so scary. Not many people do it. There aren’t many mentors or role models out there. I have no idea if I’m doing the right things or not.
But I’m going to stop stressing about it.
Because my life… Is so tiny and yet so huge. It’s everything and nothing all at once. I’m one of seven billion suspended in space where there is no such thing as up or down on a tiny planet in a tiny solar system in a tiny galaxy in the infinity of the universe.
We might be the only life out here. We might not. Either way our lives are precious and important.
Even if they are so tiny.
In 100 years we’ll all be dead, so it won’t matter anyway. That’s a little bit true. And it takes some of the pressure off.
But it’s not totally true. Because it negates the beauty of life.
I’m alive. And I’m not going to kill myself with stress. About money and houses and cars and jobs and titles and debts and gossip and fighting and guilt and shame and mistakes.
Do you know how many things have to go exactly right for life to exist on a planet? An infinite number of variables go into ensuring life. We hear a lot about how we need the sun, but did you know that every other planet in our solar system HAS to exist as it does for us to live?
There are all these planets and stars that determined whether or not I would live at all.
And I’m worried that I ate too many carbs and that my wallet is empty.
If we can be born from stardust in the infinite space of nothingness then I can find a job.
And I can find time to relax and be peaceful.
And I can decide that stress is stupid and pointless. And that it doesn’t make me important. And it doesn’t make me better.
It will kill me.
It makes me hate myself.
And how can I hate myself when an infinite number of things had to go exactly right just so I could be alive?
I woke up really early this morning. I went to bed really early last night so I got a good, full night’s sleep.
And as I got up and made my morning cup of tea, I started to think about how my Sunday mornings were when I was still drinking.
I loved my Saturday night binges. My husband and I (he’s not an alcoholic) would stay up until 4 and 5 am drinking and talking and listening to music… And I would always drink more than I really wanted to. I would be wasted, and pouring myself shot after shot. I would think to myself, I’m already hammered, I don’t need this.
But I would have it anyway.
I could never sleep off a hangover. As soon as my blood sugar dropped and I woke up, I was up for the day. It didn’t matter how exhausted or sick I was. I was up.
Sometimes I would stay exhausted and sick well into Monday, too.
Sometimes I would feel a bit better so I would drink on Sunday night. But I tried not to do that too much.
I hate hangovers.
And when I woke up really early on this Sunday morning, I fell in love with how early I went to sleep last night.
Even in the city, if I get up early enough, I wake up to the sunrise that I can see from my office, and the reflection of the sun from the buildings facing my living room. I can hear nothing but birds. If I sit in the right spot I can see the lake. I don’t watch TV in the morning.
I’ve fallen in love with how early I got up this morning.
Even though most people wouldn’t get it.
Because I’m still young. Many people my age are just finishing up school.
But I feel partied out.
Even when I was drinking I wasn’t a social drinker. I only went to bars when I had run out of booze in the house. I preferred to drink alone. Sometimes with my husband. Sometimes with a small group of friends.
I can’t stand nightclubs.
I don’t understand the sober people who go to them with their friends as their designated driver.
Maybe I just don’t love anyone enough, but I would tell them to get a cab.
Nightclubs are disgusting.
I woke up and thought of the thousands, if not millions, of people who are waking up this morning feeling sick… And ashamed… And thirsty… And hungry…
And I thanked God that this Sunday, today, I’m not one of them.
Radical Honesty.
I have a copy of that book, and I’ve read a little bit of it.
I didn’t really like the concept that much.
Verbal Vomit.
That’s what I would have called that book.
I don’t think being honest means that you need to spew every thought in your head into the ears of whoever happens to be standing near you.
I think that being honest can be unpleasant at times, but I think that unpleasantness needs to remain a personal experience.
I don’t think I have the right to drop “truth bombs” on people.
I don’t think that telling the truth is about being black and white. I think it’s about finding a higher truth. And I think that higher truth is gentle. And I think it is love. And I think that those truths are spoken gently and lovingly.
I think truth is an embrace. And I think it brings peace.
I think that sometimes you might need to tell a truth that hurts. But never tell a truth that will hurt someone else.
Be honest.
But above all, be kind.
Your feelings
This doesn’t mean you need to be dramatic (which is just an attempt to manipulate pity) it just means that you need to acknowledge your true feelings internally. Express them appropriately, and with dignity. Learn to surrender.
Your motivations
“I was in the neighbourhood…” It’s OK to say that you wanted to see someone.
It’s OK to call someone because you need to talk, you don’t need to preface it with “I just wanted to catch up”.
Your resume
You might never get caught, but you’ll also never get to experience true trust or responsibility. You’ll always have a voice in the back of your head saying “I shouldn’t be here”. You’ll never get to relax.
Where you’re from
And the life experiences that helped make you who you are today. The sooner you become OK with your past, the sooner you can use those experiences as a springboard for growth. Shame eats your soul. It kills you from the inside out.
What you want
Know what you want and be up-front about it. But be realistic in your expectations. Understand that most things take work. Be grateful for your opportunities.
Your expectations of others
Be clear and concise in your communications with those around you. Leave no room for misunderstandings. It is your responsibility to make yourself heard. People are not mind readers.
What you’re capable of
It’s OK that you’re not great at everything. Nurture the gifts that you have, even if you don’t perceive them as being as valuable as the ones you don’t. Don’t try to be something you’re not. You will just learn to hate yourself. You will be exhausted.
How valuable your relationships are
Stop “playing it cool”. It’s right there in the name: Playing. Your relationships are not games. Any prizes you perceive are illusions. People are not toys. Show people how much you love them.
Never be ashamed to love.
Love openly.
Love freely.
Love with every fibre of your being.
Love like your life depends on it.
Because it does.
I hope this is true.
I’m terrified of the consequences of honesty.
I’m worried about how my decision to tell the truth always will affect my life, and, more importantly, how it will affect the lives of those around me.
I have a family.
I have a responsibility to take care of them.
I have tens of thousands of dollars of debt.
Making peace with the idea that I will have to live small and earn less money is acceptable to me. I’m even OK with the idea of moving to a smaller place to live within my means if I have to.
My sense of inner peace and satisfaction has taken priority over my material life.
But it’s very selfish of me to expect the same from the people in my life.
My husband is a good man. He’s worked really hard to get where he is. It will feel like failure to him to live smaller. He might resent me for not making the kind of contribution I could make when I was lying.
I don’t want to “drag him down” with me.
I could take two or three jobs to make up for that lost income.
In some ways, I’m OK with that. I’m ready to start living responsibly, and to start cleaning up the messes I’ve made.
In other ways, I’m not OK with that. I’m newly sober. I need to make time for AA and my recovery. I had so many breakdowns from the stress of my last job that often required 10 – 12 hour days.
My sponsor thinks I should be working 9 – 5 for at least my first year of sobriety.
And I’m inclined to agree with her. More than anything, I want to stay sober.
But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.
Perhaps all I need to do is focus on the next right thing.
And the next right thing is to find an honest job through honest means.
I can worry about a second job later.
It damaged my self esteem
A lie is just a way of saying that I’m not good enough
It made me anxious and paranoid
Because what if someone found me out?
It stopped me having real relationships
Because no one ever really got to know me
It made me feel guilty
Because people trusted me
It made it difficult for me to trust others
Because if I’m lying maybe they are, too
It made me feel ashamed
And shame is the closest thing to death
It made my head foggy
Because I had to remember all my lies and not trip up
I didn’t grow emotionally or spiritually
Because I lived without consequences and never learned anything
It exhausted me mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually
Leading a double life takes a lot of work
It prevented me from living the life I want to live
Because I wasted so much energy trying to meet my own unrealistic expectations
It deluded me into thinking I have no responsibility
So nothing ever got done
It convinced me that I’m above other people
Because I subconsciously thought that people were stupid for believing me
The funny thing is, I have a real nose for bullshit. I know when someone is lying to me… I used to think that I was special for that.
But the truth is, that is takes one to know one. And most people do lie (though perhaps not as extensively as I did).
I think we all know when someone is lying to us. This isn’t a special skill reserved for me.
And it makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed to recognize that most people knew that I was lying to them most of the time – even if it was just a little nagging feeling in their gut that told them not to trust me.
I’m grateful that the decision was made to stop lying, and that going forward I can truly earn trust and not leave anyone with that voice of doubt.
Honesty is definitely an act of faith.
Faith that you can tell the truth
even when it’s ugly
and somehow things will be OK.
Honestatis Veritas 