Pants on Fire

Wow. What a reception. A few nights ago my finger hovered over the "Post" key for a minute as I wondered whether I was really ready to share this blog with the world. Or with Facebook, which reaches into many corners of my world--work, old friends, new friends, family. There was a time in my life where the mere thought of bringing different groups of my friends together gave me anxiety. I just didn't know how to be and over time I realized that was because I showed different parts of myself to different people. It was an identity collision when people met each other. At least it felt like one to me. Probably most of those people saw me better than I realized and it was only a big deal to me. Incidentally that was another thing that made me sweat--the idea that people would see me in a way that I wasn't aware of, that they'd know parts of me that I didn't know I was showing.

I've been a world-class liar in my lifetime. Is that a thing? Does world-class suggest the title is a good thing? Something to be proud of? Or does it just mean I was damn good at it? That's how I mean it. I was never proud of it but it was a skill that came easily to me. I'd lie if someone asked me a direct question I didn't want to answer. I'd lie if I'd done something I wasn't proud of, wanting to preserve my good girl image. I lied about where I'd been or what I'd done. It's not that I was never truthful. Mostly the lying had to do with wanting people to see me a certain way. It wasn't one specific certain way either. I was good about figuring out what people liked and finding ways to be that way. What a weird thing to admit. What a strange way to live a life. Blech.

I was not a pathological liar. I didn't lie for the sake of lying. It was about hiding. It really felt like I needed to hide the "bad" parts of myself, because I was trying to hard to eradicate them entirely from my life that why admit to them in the meantime?

There were two big exceptions to the lying times. The lying game.

The first was the year after my liver transplant. I would never wish a transplant on anyone. To clarify, I wish for people who need transplants to get them and I am completely and totally grateful for the transplant that saved my life. But I wouldn't say to someone "Have a transplant! It's great!" It was scary and painful and a surreal experience. Like falling down the rabbit hole. It took me a while to recover physically and longer to recover emotionally but it also launched me into the most incredible year of my life. It felt like God reached down and pulled the curtain back and showed me what being a person was all about. My eyes were so clear. I was so utterly myself, unapologetically and with total calm. It was a hard year in many ways and I wasn't happy all the time but the experience of being 100% me was mesmerizing. I suddenly understood that no one had it more figured out than I did. No one before or after me would ever know what it was like to be me. And rather than feeling isolated or lonely because of that I felt so free. Oh! I thought. This is the point. I am me and I get to be me and that is my job, my gift, my opportunity. It was intoxicating. When that feeling started to fade away I could sense myself losing it and tried desperately to hold on to it but it left me. I mourned it for a long while.

The second started about six years ago and is still in progress. I plan to keep it going for the rest of my life. I ended a major relationship in my life and decided to take as much time as I needed by myself to figure out what I wanted. One of the main decisions I made at the time was that there would be no more lying. Not even little lies. It was too easy for me and too safe. The slope too slippery. The next three years were full of radical self-discovery. The day a long-term love/friend/in-all-ways-complicated person in my life suggested I go to therapy, I listened. I started seeing a therapist expecting to talk about one main issue and ended up continuing the work I'd already started on my own. Listening to myself and letting myself be heard and seen, in all my glory. In all my ugliness.

It was a relief to start telling the truth. It felt too sad, too wasteful, to heavy a burden to be dishonest. What was the point? My life was passing me by and I wasn't actually letting people see me, who I really was. I'd spent a long time honing my ability to mold myself into someone I thought other people wanted me to be. It was a surprise to discover that I had been losing myself in the process.

Ha. I'll tell you, I did not expect these words to present themselves on the page when I sat down to write. After sharing my blog I spent the next day thinking about what to write about next. Something funny would be good, I thought. Lately I've been feeling the day I did when I quit drinking for a few years after my transplant. The super-serious, intense person at the party who scares drunk people away with the lack of small talk. "SO, let's talk about LIFE and the MEANING OF LIFE and things like that! Oh, no? Too much? Hmmmm. I miss beer."

Small ideas flitted in and out of my head throughout the day and when I sat down, I didn't have a clear sense of what I wanted to say. I knew wanted to say "Thank you" to everyone who read and commented. All of you have been so generous in your support. Starting to describe how I felt about sharing I thought I'd say "I felt scared but I decided to do it anyway." The truth is, I didn't feel scared. I felt free. I hesitated for a second, wondering what people would think, who would read it, who on my friend list I actually didn't want to share my thoughts with. I tried to remember what I'd written about before and couldn't so I really had no idea what the reaction would be.

I'm 37 years old. I've given birth to four babies in the last thirteen months. I definitely still worry about what people think of me but I'm working hard to let that go. I care what these kids think of me. I don't want to write anything that will hurt them, or hurt my husband, along the way. Those are my main concerns.This is me. See me. I want to be seen. Even if it's not pretty. Sometimes it won't be and I hope I'm brave enough to keep writing anyway.

Many thanks friends.