The Truest Thing I Have to Offer

I bumped into a dear friend the other day after a qigong class. She mentioned that she enjoys reading my newsletters and that they help her feel connected, even when we don't see each other often enough. That surprised me a little because I never know if what I'm writing resonates with anyone else. 

Instead of brushing off the recognition, I asked what she liked about my newsletters.

She paused and then said, "You're a truth-teller."

She went on to say that she never felt like I was trying to convince her of anything or impress anyone. I was simply telling the truth as I experienced it.

Her words stayed with me because I haven't always been able to tell the truth. Not the deeper truth that she was referring to. 

For much of my life, I was so tuned in to everyone else that I couldn't always hear myself.

I’d watch people's reactions. I’d anticipate their needs.
I worked hard to be helpful, agreeable, capable, and valuable.

Without realizing it, I was constantly adjusting myself according to the room I was in.

I was quick to notice when someone was angry or disappointed and could put my needs aside at the drop of a hat to make it ‘better’ (a superpower when I was 8, a liability as an adult). 

And, if someone approved of me, needed me, loved me, I would relax. I needed to know I belonged, I mattered and was loved.

While none of those are wrong, somewhere along the way I began looking outside myself for answers that could only be found within.

Am I enough? Am I lovable?

The problem with using other people as mirrors is that their reflections can constantly change.

Someone is distracted or having a bad day or carrying a burden you know nothing about.

Someone misunderstands you entirely. 

When our sense of self depends on outside reflections, it can be shaken to the core in an instant, and then life feels very unpredictable.

It is absolutely exhausting and takes such a toll on health and wellbeing. 

The greatest shift in my life hasn't been learning to care less; it's been learning where to place my care.

I love deeply. I care immensely about people. 

But I don't need to be everything to everyone or have other people agree with me. I don't even need them to like me. 

And I no longer believe I have to earn my worth by being endlessly accommodating, giving, and helpful. 

As I've gotten to know myself more honestly, something unexpected has happened.

The truth has become easier to speak. Not because I'm fearless, but because I'm less interested in protecting an image of myself than I am in being myself.

That is incredibly freeing!

Much of my life has unknowingly been a process of peeling away old roles, old conditioning, and old stories about who I needed to be in order to be safe, accepted, or loved.

I'm still doing that work; maybe I always will be. I hope I never stop paying attention. I hope I remain curious enough to keep learning and growing into myself. 

Because every layer I release brings me a little closer to home, to myself, and to the ones I love.

The cool thing is that this isn't just my story. It's a story I witness every day.

Parents who are tuning towards themselves and, as a result, growing in trusting themselves.

Caregivers who are rediscovering their own needs after putting themselves on hold. 

People courageously navigating change, grief, relationships, and uncertainty who slowly begin to realize that the peace they're searching for isn't found in getting someone else's approval or doing anything right. 

It's found in coming home to themselves, again and again. 

Maybe that's why my friend's words touched me so deeply. She wasn't just complimenting my writing; she was reflecting back the journey I've been on all along. 

She could see it because, little by little, I’ve allowed her to truly see me. 

Maybe that's the truest thing I have to offer.