Truth In Life and Writing
It appears I was born with an over abundance of ‘conscience’. I remember being acutely aware of right and wrong. Then one day my Mother made things a little more complicated for me by teaching me about ‘white lies’. What are white lies? Well they are special lies, lies you tell to save from hurting someone’s feelings. I thought that was strange.
Mum carpooled with another lady to get us kids to school and back which was several miles away. One day as Mum was dropping the kids off at her friend Tessa’s house, we were invited in for drinks and biscuits. Having previously heard my Mother complain about how much Tessa talked and knowing my Mother would not want to spend time wasted over drinks and biscuits, I chirped up from my back seat in the car, ‘no thank you my Mother doesn’t want to spend time with you’ or words to that affect. Mother didn’t miss a beat and talking to Tessa yet turning to look at me with a death stare, said ‘Tessa I would love to come in for a coffee!’
So us kids got to drink squash and eat biscuits and play in the garden whilst Mum whiled away an hour or so in punishment. As we drove home I knew I was in trouble but honestly couldn’t understand why. I complained to my Mum, ‘but you told me to always tell the truth?!’ And then Mum reminded me of the white lie clause. To this day I still remember this as one of the most perplexing experiences of my life! Why would I want to believe in white lies?! The truth resonated with me. It was so simple, just be truthful.
Then I grew up and married and the marriage wasn’t good. Years passed and I was busy raising my children but slowly and secretly I was dying inside because I was not living my truth. I was trying to be happy, trying to believe that everything was okay. But it wasn’t. Denial was my only reality until I finally hit the wall of truth. The wall, the place where there are no excuses left, no other ways out, no more pretending, no more hoping, just face to face with the messy, miserable, tangled truth.
About a year later I was divorced with five young children to care for and 12,000 miles from ‘home’. Life was hard, yet easier and happier than it had been in a long time. Truth flowed through my life again and it was my life blood. No more self deception and denial. No more white lies to myself. The truth really did set me free.
Why am I writing about this today? Well for one thing it has been on my mind. And also because pivotal to writing life story is writing the truth and like life that’s not so simple is it? The truth can be hard for us to write and hard for others to read and hear. Its not like sitting in class as a six year old and writing about our weekend.
And so we talk to the blank page about our life. We see how it feels. It may feel uncomfortable. It may feel awkward. But it may be important that we do this, share our truth. Ask yourself, ‘why do I want to share my truth?’ If your answer has a positive strain to it then you are probably doing the right thing. If your answer is negative, say for revenge or to expose or hurt someone, then maybe you need to carefully consider the repurcussions this would bring. Relationships lay in the balance and there are legal rights to consider.
This was not my favorite piece to write but then again not all writing comes easily, is pretty, tells a great story and leaves you smiling. Some writing just leaves you hanging, reflective, questioning, waiting for something, something that hasn’t quite been written yet.
Life is a journey. Go find your truth. Then take courage and share it.