Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Honesty is the best ...

... way to freak people the fuck out.

There are absolutely times when you don't *need* to be brutally honest about something, especially true in cases involving your OPINION.

But guess what? Grieving the death of a loved one is not one of those times.

It's funny that the people who are disgusted by the slimy grimy ooey gooey work of knitting a smashed-up heart back together are almost ALWAYS the people who think the definition of "honesty" means sharing their opinion like it's God's truth.

"You really shouldn't share that, you know. It's alarming."
"There are some things you should keep between yourself and the good Lord."
"Good heavens, don't say that! What will people think?"

(All excellent examples of OPINIONS)

What the fuck is up with this, anyway? I experienced it when living through and talking openly about my battles with postpartum depression a la "I can't believe you would share that online," sorts of comments. <<< Oh look, ANOTHER OPINION.

Since I've ridden this merry-go-round before, I'm just gonna say it: you get to say what you need to say, feel what you need to feel, and do what you need to do to get through whatever shit sandwich life is currently shoving down your throat.

Just know that if you're willing to get into the nitty gritty difficult difficult lemon difficult work of facing your issues instead of sweeping them under the rug like a good little robot, you will make a lot of folks uncomfortable. Most people are terrified of the truth. They want the polish, they want the spin, they want the bite-size manageable pieces ... and heaven forbid you forget your Instagram filter on that, dear.

"People" are not who I'm doing this for, though. I'm doing it for me, first and foremost, because I recognize and acknowledge you can't heal a broken bone if you pretend it doesn't exist. Secondly, if there's even a smidgen of hope my experience will help someone else in a similarly fucked up situation, it's worth it. Way back when I published my pieces on PPD, I said if it helped even one person, it would be worth it. And guess what? It was.

Everyone experiences loss in, and I'm sick and tired of society's ass backwards beliefs about the grieving process. I will not duct tape my shattered heart back together and prance around like everything is lahhhhvvvvelllyy, dahling just because society tells me I should. 

Nopey nope nope.

I'll leave you with one of my very favorite passages from The Velveteen Rabbit ...

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.' 

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?' 

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

Let's get real.
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