Born with an open heart and open eyes
All who know me, and many who don't, have thought me too trusting. The heart on my cool grey cable knit sweater bursts with stories of heartache and of beauty that ache to transcend my own experiences and to reach out to the hearts around me for confirmation, for connection. I've been told I'm naive, a trait I resented throughout my teenage years, a trait I fought to prove false by letting darkness in, just to show I could take it. I've been told I'm too honest, too open, too truthful for my own good, and I was confused as to why others thought this was such a bad thing. I am still baffled by others' unwillingness to share the purest forms of their souls. I've told myself I am vulnerable; my heart seemed to have been stripped of its skin, like a peeled tomato, translucent and red, fragile, sitting in a pool of sweet juice that seeps from my flesh.
This quality that others seem to equate so consistently with me has shaped my perception of nearly every experience in my life. I have grown from hating it to fearing I have lost it, to loving that it has remained a stable component of my personality despite tragedy and loss. I have learned to embrace my open heart.
An article from December’s Psychology Today echoes what I’ve discovered about myself over the years: “It may be that trusters are better at recognizing deceit because they’ve learned from being burned in the past… Naturally wary folks, on the other hand, may avoid altogether the relationships that lead to such insights.” It’s true that my trusting nature has caused great pain when it has been taken advantage of, but it’s also true that my openness has encouraged others to open up when they needed to most. I’ve inspired and been inspired by the hearts held broken before me, suspended in air, hoping for God to hold them together and to pump blood through their broken bodies as they waited for time to heal that which only time CAN heal.
Many ask, “Wouldn’t anyone’s trust plunge after enough heartache?” Despite enduring years of pain and manipulation, my faith in human goodness and my desire for openness have not waned. I feared it would, but it has not. I have learned to discern a person’s character very quickly, but I still approach everyone with faith in their honesty.
Some prophesied that I would become embittered and cynical, that my hope in humanity would shatter as I was exposed to the world’s iniquity. I protested with spit in my step, believed I knew all there was to know about pain. I was wrong, but so were they. “[Researchers view] trust as a stable trait, rather than a quality stymied by unpleasant experience.” At twenty-four years of age, I am sure there is plenty of heartache to come, but thank God I can also be sure that my faith will not abandon me.
This quality that others seem to equate so consistently with me has shaped my perception of nearly every experience in my life. I have grown from hating it to fearing I have lost it, to loving that it has remained a stable component of my personality despite tragedy and loss. I have learned to embrace my open heart.
An article from December’s Psychology Today echoes what I’ve discovered about myself over the years: “It may be that trusters are better at recognizing deceit because they’ve learned from being burned in the past… Naturally wary folks, on the other hand, may avoid altogether the relationships that lead to such insights.” It’s true that my trusting nature has caused great pain when it has been taken advantage of, but it’s also true that my openness has encouraged others to open up when they needed to most. I’ve inspired and been inspired by the hearts held broken before me, suspended in air, hoping for God to hold them together and to pump blood through their broken bodies as they waited for time to heal that which only time CAN heal.
Many ask, “Wouldn’t anyone’s trust plunge after enough heartache?” Despite enduring years of pain and manipulation, my faith in human goodness and my desire for openness have not waned. I feared it would, but it has not. I have learned to discern a person’s character very quickly, but I still approach everyone with faith in their honesty.
Some prophesied that I would become embittered and cynical, that my hope in humanity would shatter as I was exposed to the world’s iniquity. I protested with spit in my step, believed I knew all there was to know about pain. I was wrong, but so were they. “[Researchers view] trust as a stable trait, rather than a quality stymied by unpleasant experience.” At twenty-four years of age, I am sure there is plenty of heartache to come, but thank God I can also be sure that my faith will not abandon me.