Completely Transparent

Completely transparent.

You sit beside me.  Ready to listen. Available.  Thoughts and feelings swirl inside of my head and heart.  Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

You ask what is on my mind.  You are the one I trust completely. My encourager.  Thoughts and feelings race to form coherent sentences.  Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

Why am I not able to share?  I have an actual list of these thoughts and feelings because a part of me wants and needs desperately to give them a voice.  I hold that list close. I know you see it in my hand. Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

What am I afraid of?  I know with tremendous confidence that there are no words I could speak that would cause you to love me less.  You will not reject my heart. Yet, I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate.

As you sit beside me, waiting, I remember the day our Zoey was born.  The epidural wasn’t as effective as it should have been, and the anesthesiologist kept increasing the dose.  Eventually I was completely numb. Physically I felt paralyzed. My body. My mouth. The thoughts, feelings, and fears were screaming in my head.  I looked at you thinking ‘why can you not hear me…help! This is not normal. Something is wrong.’ Yet, I could not speak. I could not share. I hesitated.

As I lay in bed tonight, hiding my tears, I search for a reason for my hesitation.  

In high school History class, I remember using tracing paper to trace the outline of a map.  My map never looked like the map in the book. It was imperfect.  Sloppy. Everything just slightly off.  

As I try to process why I cannot do the very thing I want to do, many what-ifs circle like a carousel in my head.  What happens if I chase the what-ifs to the very end?

What if you hear my words and try to fix the problems?  Fixing means changing. Changing could lead you to make sacrifices that I do not want you to make. You might lose sight of your own goals and purposes.  No, I cannot allow that to happen because I see clearly what your purpose is and it is far greater than me.

What if you hear my words and they hurt you?  What if you misunderstand? No, I cannot allow that to happen because it really isn’t about you.  

What if I hand you a pencil and piece of tracing paper and you attempt to draw my thoughts and feelings?  What if you see that I am imperfect? Sloppy. Slightly off. Then everything changes. I like the way you look at me now.  I don’t want you to see me.

What if I voice my words, thoughts and feelings and they are known by you?  I can no longer deny them. Ignore them. I am now accountable for them. I am forced to acknowledge fears. Loneliness. Dreams. Weakness. Change. Then I become transparent in real time, and I no longer have control.  No time to process and create the woman sitting beside you.

Vulnerability, for me, has always been limited to what I had already processed and then offered to others - willingly.  Transparency, on the other hand, is allowing you to see me before I see me. I can be vulnerable, but transparency, like that epidural, paralyzes me.  Perhaps I do not speak. I do not share. I hesitate…because it requires something of me. Courage within myself. Acceptance of the imperfections.  Belief that I am worthy. 

Now…boldly stepping through the facade.  Emerging from the murky water of self doubt.  Accepting my lack of control. Embracing the unprocessed.  Acknowledging the sloppy map. Showing you me.  Wanting to be seen. Desiring to be known.

It is a choice.  It has always been a choice.

Speaking.  Sharing. Willing.  

Choosing to be completely transparent.

I detest pictures of myself, but perhaps taking a picture is my first step in seeing myself.