Lens of Truth

I am a reformed liar and there was a time when I wouldn't have even been honest about that. I portrayed more than I lived because pretending seemed less complicated, less painful, and less frightening. When flashes of reality snuck past the surface I ran back to the perceived safety of the closet containing all of my secrets and slammed the door. I told myself that the lying I did was acceptable—yet another lie—because I wasn't hurting anyone. Yet that was the most detrimental untruth because I was hurting myself.

There is something extremely terrifying about honesty. It's the reason so many clichés, expressions, songs, poems, books, shows, and films are centered around the truth—hiding it or finding out about it. Most of us have convinced ourselves or have been persuaded by others that certain areas of our lives are better concealed or easier to deal with if we don't actually deal. The problem is that we can never grow into our fullest selves without first being aware of who we are. We can never reach where we're going if we aren't first honest about where we've been. We can never heal if we don't acknowledge that we hurt.

The closet containing my secrets, where I perceived safety because it didn't require me to expose my hurt, was harmful. It felt comfortable, but it was stifling and suffocating. It was only through the lens of truth that I could acknowledge the negative impact of hiding my pain and open the door. It was only through the lens of truth that I could see the dark cloud of dishonesty choking the life out of me. It was only through the lens of truth that I could bear to be brave enough to fully live. It was only through the lens of truth that I could tell my story and trust that I would survive telling it as I continue to survive living with it.