The Truth and Nothing But the Truth
Once upon a time, way back in TheWindrose’s history, I dated a man who had been in a lot of therapy. Years before meeting me, you see, he had been through a crippling and destructive divorce. Being something of a hippy, he took to therapy like a duck to water.
By the time he had met me, he had been changed by his experiences, and although he was no longer going, he had a therapy mindset. This story is not about him. However, while we were dating he frequently used techniques that he had learned. At first, it was annoying... really annoying, but over time, I got used to it. It was strange to have conversations with someone who really wanted the truth and who was willing to listen in return. It was strange to be honest.
We, ladies especially, have been programed all our lives not to be 100% honest, not with our mates, our friends or even ourselves. We have little games and little tricks we play. They have become standardized methods of acting, ways of being. We do them now so often that they are subconscious, we don’t even realize they are happening. I bet if I mention a few of the more well known ones though, you will nod in recognition. Have you ever done, or experienced one of these:
The Bait and Switch - My lover leaves and doesn’t kiss me goodbye. I am incredibly hurt and angry about this, I’ve been feeling insecure lately and this seems to be a sign that he doesn’t love me anymore. But really I know that he actually had good reason not to kiss me. He’s stressed about his work, he was in a hurry to catch the bus and not be late again, and I know that when he sees me in my morning curlers he always thinks of his mother. I know being angry at him for not kissing me is silly, so instead I come up with another reason to be angry - a perfectly reasonable one. That night when he gets home, I will be brandishing the sword of righteous anger and there is nothing under the sun that that man can say or do right. Nor can he fix it, because I am telling him I mad about one thing, but secretly mad about another. He doesn’t have a chance.
Oh, I So Don’t Think So - This happens just after the above scenario, when my lover actually guesses the truth. You see, he knows that I love being kissed goodbye and he always makes an effort to do it, and he knew the minute he walked out the door that he had forgotten. So, he asks me if I’m really just mad about me not getting kissed. Brother, you are a dead man. We would rather be thrown out on the curb than admit the sword of righteous anger is really tinfoil and string. We will never admit that we would be upset about something silly that we knew we had no reason to be upset about in the first place.
ESP Wasn’t in the Job Description - Ok, this time I am seriously flaming mad. Or maybe I’m sobbing on the couch. But in either case I’m not telling you why, because if you really truly loved me, you would know.
But my favorite and the one that I really used to do a lot is:
Mental Stenography - I will remain angry/sad/depressed/morose until you say the exact sentence I want to hear, word for word, comma for comma, the exact way I think it should be said and with the exact emphasis I hear in my mind. If you don’t you are a jackass and you don’t really love me after all. No, it doesn’t matter if you said something really close to what I wanted to hear, or even if you what you said had the essence of what I wanted to hear and I know what you mean... unless I hear it exactly how I think it shoud be said, you don’t really love me.
The thing is, when you break this stuff down, when you really look at it close up, it’s quite stupid. I mean c’mon!! How hard is it to run after him in your curlers and grab him on the sidewalk and plant one on his lips and say, “Hey you forgot my kiss, babe.” How hard is it to articulate what it is that we need, what it is that we want? How hard is it to just be honest?
* * * * *
Who am I kidding? It’s painfully hard. The first time I did it, I felt like my heart was going to be ripped out of my chest. I was so vulnerable, I felt cold, wet and naked, shaking in my own skin. I had just opened myself up to another human being - opened myself up so they could slice my skin with icy knives, dowse it with lemon juice and rub it with salt. Tears formed in my eyes and my voice shook - but I did it.
And it got easier. Then my long haired therapy boy and I broke up. It was for the best in the end, and I took something away from it with me. I developed a penchant for honesty and I learned how to let go of my temper.
Because that is the other side of the coin, isn’t it? Anger. All these emotions, fear, insecurity, despair, they well up inside of us and erupt into anger. But what good does it really do us? I mean, honestly - look back at your life, look back at the fights you had with loved ones, spouses, children, friends. How often has anger really worked? When did it get what you really wanted? I will admit, there are times, few and rare, where anger is appropriate, but when did it ever solve a problem? If a problem was solved, if something was really changed, if hearts were really mended, didn’t it really happen in the long, quiet discussion afterwards? So, I decided to let go of anger, to skip the high emotions, the fighting, the headaches, the screaming - and go right to the quiet talking. It seemed like a lot less work.
The next person I became friends with after that became my first experiment. He and I began talking and I forced myself to open up and be vulnerable. I tried not to lie to him, I tried not to hide things. As we became better friends, I did my best to show him that he could do the same with me, that he could trust me, and that I wasn't hiding anything. When my instincts wanted to twist his words into an argument, I didn’t let them. When my heart cried from an imagined slight, I reasoned it out and released my anger into the wind. And slowly, very slowly, like a plant turning to the sun, he began to reciprocate. When he struggled with words because he was trying to be true, I didn’t rush him, I didn’t put words in his mouth. Instead I forced my tongue to be still, and I listened. I’m a hardened woman and I refused to be otherwise, when my instincts told me to pretend to be shocked (lest he think me “unfeminine”) I calmly listened, then told a tale about my own life that showed I’d walked the same roads. I trusted him with my secrets and he trusted me with his. I swore to protect them to my grave, and I have faith that he will do the same for me.
We are still friends, and our friendship continues to teach me. Even now I open my heart and pull things from it that I would have never showed another, and I lay them before him, open, pulsing and real. There are times my knees are weak and my eyes fill, because I know in many ways I have offered him my life, yet, I also know I hold his in my hands.
And it is good. It has given me more than this beautiful friendship, it has given me my love.
I took with me these lessons I had learned from the hippy and practiced on my friend and began to use them in real life. There were people I scared. They didn’t know how to accept my honesty, they viewed me with suspicion because I didn’t play the games they knew, and they wondered if this was yet another game. A new game. A game that would hurt them. For who was I that struggled to speak quietly when I was angry, and asked them to do the same in return? Who was I that I didn’t pretend to be innocent/shy/demure/needy/angry, the way that so of us many have? When they ran away from me, sometimes screaming into the night, it hurt, but I let the hurt go the best I could. For what was the point? If they didn’t accept me now, they never would.
It all prepared me for meeting Michael. He had been through his own battles, his own struggles, and while he didn’t completely understand me, he was willing to listen and give it a try. It was different than what he had known in the past and he was open to it. I cannot say that I was perfect then, or that I am now. We had fights and disagreements in the beginning. I had to learn Michael’s language and he had to learn mine. We needed to learn how to communicate with each other and how to speak so the other one really understood. In the beginning I would get frustrated and blow up, so would he. But we didn’t give up. Though I expected him to, though I expected him to leave at any minute, he didn’t. So, I learned better how to quiet my mind and listen to myself and figure out what was ”really” going on inside. I learned how to tell him. It wasn’t easy, but, it really wasn’t that hard either.
Now there is comfort. There is safety. I don’t loose my temper and say things to him I later regret, he doesn’t say them to me. I know that when I need to talk to him, I can and I know he can do the same to me. Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes I tell him something about myself and the tears stream down my face, but I solider on. What is hard sometimes is to tell him the silly things. The big things are usually easier, but it is the silly little things that are deep inside me, things I am insecure about or terrified of, that i know are false or laughable, but are there even still. Now, those are the things that cause me to cry.
That’s not so bad, is it?
By the time he had met me, he had been changed by his experiences, and although he was no longer going, he had a therapy mindset. This story is not about him. However, while we were dating he frequently used techniques that he had learned. At first, it was annoying... really annoying, but over time, I got used to it. It was strange to have conversations with someone who really wanted the truth and who was willing to listen in return. It was strange to be honest.
We, ladies especially, have been programed all our lives not to be 100% honest, not with our mates, our friends or even ourselves. We have little games and little tricks we play. They have become standardized methods of acting, ways of being. We do them now so often that they are subconscious, we don’t even realize they are happening. I bet if I mention a few of the more well known ones though, you will nod in recognition. Have you ever done, or experienced one of these:
The Bait and Switch - My lover leaves and doesn’t kiss me goodbye. I am incredibly hurt and angry about this, I’ve been feeling insecure lately and this seems to be a sign that he doesn’t love me anymore. But really I know that he actually had good reason not to kiss me. He’s stressed about his work, he was in a hurry to catch the bus and not be late again, and I know that when he sees me in my morning curlers he always thinks of his mother. I know being angry at him for not kissing me is silly, so instead I come up with another reason to be angry - a perfectly reasonable one. That night when he gets home, I will be brandishing the sword of righteous anger and there is nothing under the sun that that man can say or do right. Nor can he fix it, because I am telling him I mad about one thing, but secretly mad about another. He doesn’t have a chance.
Oh, I So Don’t Think So - This happens just after the above scenario, when my lover actually guesses the truth. You see, he knows that I love being kissed goodbye and he always makes an effort to do it, and he knew the minute he walked out the door that he had forgotten. So, he asks me if I’m really just mad about me not getting kissed. Brother, you are a dead man. We would rather be thrown out on the curb than admit the sword of righteous anger is really tinfoil and string. We will never admit that we would be upset about something silly that we knew we had no reason to be upset about in the first place.
ESP Wasn’t in the Job Description - Ok, this time I am seriously flaming mad. Or maybe I’m sobbing on the couch. But in either case I’m not telling you why, because if you really truly loved me, you would know.
But my favorite and the one that I really used to do a lot is:
Mental Stenography - I will remain angry/sad/depressed/morose until you say the exact sentence I want to hear, word for word, comma for comma, the exact way I think it should be said and with the exact emphasis I hear in my mind. If you don’t you are a jackass and you don’t really love me after all. No, it doesn’t matter if you said something really close to what I wanted to hear, or even if you what you said had the essence of what I wanted to hear and I know what you mean... unless I hear it exactly how I think it shoud be said, you don’t really love me.
The thing is, when you break this stuff down, when you really look at it close up, it’s quite stupid. I mean c’mon!! How hard is it to run after him in your curlers and grab him on the sidewalk and plant one on his lips and say, “Hey you forgot my kiss, babe.” How hard is it to articulate what it is that we need, what it is that we want? How hard is it to just be honest?
* * * * *
Who am I kidding? It’s painfully hard. The first time I did it, I felt like my heart was going to be ripped out of my chest. I was so vulnerable, I felt cold, wet and naked, shaking in my own skin. I had just opened myself up to another human being - opened myself up so they could slice my skin with icy knives, dowse it with lemon juice and rub it with salt. Tears formed in my eyes and my voice shook - but I did it.
And it got easier. Then my long haired therapy boy and I broke up. It was for the best in the end, and I took something away from it with me. I developed a penchant for honesty and I learned how to let go of my temper.
Because that is the other side of the coin, isn’t it? Anger. All these emotions, fear, insecurity, despair, they well up inside of us and erupt into anger. But what good does it really do us? I mean, honestly - look back at your life, look back at the fights you had with loved ones, spouses, children, friends. How often has anger really worked? When did it get what you really wanted? I will admit, there are times, few and rare, where anger is appropriate, but when did it ever solve a problem? If a problem was solved, if something was really changed, if hearts were really mended, didn’t it really happen in the long, quiet discussion afterwards? So, I decided to let go of anger, to skip the high emotions, the fighting, the headaches, the screaming - and go right to the quiet talking. It seemed like a lot less work.
The next person I became friends with after that became my first experiment. He and I began talking and I forced myself to open up and be vulnerable. I tried not to lie to him, I tried not to hide things. As we became better friends, I did my best to show him that he could do the same with me, that he could trust me, and that I wasn't hiding anything. When my instincts wanted to twist his words into an argument, I didn’t let them. When my heart cried from an imagined slight, I reasoned it out and released my anger into the wind. And slowly, very slowly, like a plant turning to the sun, he began to reciprocate. When he struggled with words because he was trying to be true, I didn’t rush him, I didn’t put words in his mouth. Instead I forced my tongue to be still, and I listened. I’m a hardened woman and I refused to be otherwise, when my instincts told me to pretend to be shocked (lest he think me “unfeminine”) I calmly listened, then told a tale about my own life that showed I’d walked the same roads. I trusted him with my secrets and he trusted me with his. I swore to protect them to my grave, and I have faith that he will do the same for me.
We are still friends, and our friendship continues to teach me. Even now I open my heart and pull things from it that I would have never showed another, and I lay them before him, open, pulsing and real. There are times my knees are weak and my eyes fill, because I know in many ways I have offered him my life, yet, I also know I hold his in my hands.
And it is good. It has given me more than this beautiful friendship, it has given me my love.
I took with me these lessons I had learned from the hippy and practiced on my friend and began to use them in real life. There were people I scared. They didn’t know how to accept my honesty, they viewed me with suspicion because I didn’t play the games they knew, and they wondered if this was yet another game. A new game. A game that would hurt them. For who was I that struggled to speak quietly when I was angry, and asked them to do the same in return? Who was I that I didn’t pretend to be innocent/shy/demure/needy/angry, the way that so of us many have? When they ran away from me, sometimes screaming into the night, it hurt, but I let the hurt go the best I could. For what was the point? If they didn’t accept me now, they never would.
It all prepared me for meeting Michael. He had been through his own battles, his own struggles, and while he didn’t completely understand me, he was willing to listen and give it a try. It was different than what he had known in the past and he was open to it. I cannot say that I was perfect then, or that I am now. We had fights and disagreements in the beginning. I had to learn Michael’s language and he had to learn mine. We needed to learn how to communicate with each other and how to speak so the other one really understood. In the beginning I would get frustrated and blow up, so would he. But we didn’t give up. Though I expected him to, though I expected him to leave at any minute, he didn’t. So, I learned better how to quiet my mind and listen to myself and figure out what was ”really” going on inside. I learned how to tell him. It wasn’t easy, but, it really wasn’t that hard either.
Now there is comfort. There is safety. I don’t loose my temper and say things to him I later regret, he doesn’t say them to me. I know that when I need to talk to him, I can and I know he can do the same to me. Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes I tell him something about myself and the tears stream down my face, but I solider on. What is hard sometimes is to tell him the silly things. The big things are usually easier, but it is the silly little things that are deep inside me, things I am insecure about or terrified of, that i know are false or laughable, but are there even still. Now, those are the things that cause me to cry.
That’s not so bad, is it?