On December 2nd, I posted the following on my Facebook page:

I am 52 years old and experiencing panic attacks for the first time in my life. I am saying this out loud because I have to work hard not to fall into a shame cycle. I’m struggling with anxiety in a way I never have. Maybe you are too. Maybe we’re not alone.

The comments that I received on this post both publicly and privately served as a tangible and palpable reminder that I am not alone in what I am experiencing. Brene Brown says, We cultivate love, when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known. But damn that can be scary! I put that post out there for mostly selfish reasons. I thought, if I say it out loud, if I share it with honesty and grace, I am in some small way telling myself that it really is okay not to be okay. What I received in response to my openness, was not only a revelation, but in many ways it was a gift. So many of us are not okay in this moment, and it’s hard to talk about. It’s even harder when social media convinces us that everybody else seems happier, more together and quite honestly less fucked up than we feel. Intellectually we know this can’t be true, but when we are navigating low places the mind will often distort our perception of things. I put a few words of truth out on my Facebook page, they felt both vulnerable and powerful, like wielding a sword in my battle against shame. And what I got in response to sharing my authentic self was love. My brave honesty, cultivated love at a time when I really needed it.

Recently I had the chance to catch up with a relative of mine. It had been quite some time since we talked and I loved hearing about how she was doing, and having the chance to share a bit about my life. At some point the conversation turned to my writing. She told me what a beautiful and prolific writer I am and how she admired my ability to reflect honestly and deeply about my feelings. BUT, she added, it would be so nice to see me write so deeply about the good things, the happy things, the blessings in my life. I’ll admit that it caught me off guard, and I had to take a few breaths before I could answer. It is true that I have much to be thankful for and I count my blessings every day. My daughters have grown into amazing young women and I have much to be proud of and I feel that pride every day. After 27 years of marriage my husband remains my best friend and I am grateful that we are on this journey together. My circle of friends is comprised of authentic, compassionate, loving and kind women and men that I feel privileged to have in my life. All of this is true. And I see, know and feel it all. But the hard stuff, the messy stuff, the stuff that I am wading through right now and that I have been wading through for some time, that is also my truth. And part of my process of trying to heal those wounds is to write about them.

Ashley C. Ford says, Truth is beautiful. Truth requires courage. You have to be courageous to admit the truth and to find the truth and to hear the truth. And to accept the truth. It all requires courage beyond your body. I cultivate courage when I tell my truth. But I also know that there will always be those people who don’t want to see it, or read it unless it is brimming with roses and fairy dust. And that’s okay. Because what I have learned is that it says far more about them then it does about me. I don’t say that with judgement or malice. It is really hard to sit with someone in the hard spaces, to show up, to really listen and to just accompany them. It is hard to admit to having no easy answers. It is easier to ask the truth teller to write the happy ending, than it is to see the darker plot lines that are unfolding and simply let them narrate their life as they are experiencing it. It takes courage to hold the truth of ourselves and to hold the truth of another.

I sometimes find myself wondering how often my father was asked to look away from the darkness, and focus on all he had to be grateful for. I wonder if each time he heard that, he opted to share less of his truth out loud, rather than listen to another round of platitudes that did not speak to the quicksand he found himself trudging through, sinking deeper and deeper, while holding the full extent of his despair quietly in the pocket of his soul. Even after he died, the platitudes kept coming. But he had so much to live for. As if that should’ve been the obvious antidote to his pain and anguish.

Shame resides deep in my bones. It took hold from a very young age, and it grew with me, strengthening over time, cultivated by experiences and relationships that validated and empowered it. Self-love is something I have had to learn, and it’s still a work in progress. I have noticed that when I feel myself struggling, shame always seems to have the upper hand. It is Goliath, and this still fledgling concept of loving myself as I would love another, wholeheartedly, fully, without condition or judgement, well that is the David armed only with a slingshot and a prayer! It doesn’t really feel like a fair fight. So I arm the self-love with one more weapon, truth. It is raw, unvarnished, sometimes messy, it can be sharp or smooth, bright or dark, overflowing with tears or joy. But it is mine. And it is powerful. Telling my truth helps me to cultivate love for myself. Because when I can name what I am feeling, it holds less power over me. I can look it in the eye, find some understanding in it, learn from it and I hope, heal from it. That is love. Meeting my pain where it is, and tending to it in the messy garden where it resides.

I wear a ring every day, a birthday gift from my family and a reminder to myself. It is inscribed with these words (in Hebrew) There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. In the song, Anthem by Leonard Cohen, the line before this one reads, Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering.

That is self-love. Let the light flow through every crack and fissure. Let go of the image and idea of perfection. Share your light by sharing your truth. Be the light that stands in the truth of another. Ring your bells with your most authentic offering, you! Answer the bells of another with your full presence. I’m still learning. But this much I know, I can hold my gifts and my sorrow in the same sacred place. My words are the mirror, a reflection of my journey both in good times and bad. They are no less sacred when they impart sorrow or fear, anxiety or panic, sadness or anger. Those expressions of truth do not dim all of the goodness and blessings in my life. My view of the world is not that myopic. I write from where I am in any given moment of time. Right now, I feel lost without a compass, trying to navigate my own mental health struggles and some very hard family truths. Shit is just downright difficult right now. That is the simple and undeniable truth. My life is not a work of fiction where I can change the plot line because I don’t like where it is going.

You know those signs that help you navigate a hiking path? They always indicate you are here with a bold arrow! Well, I am here. The path is steep and slippery. But I am putting one foot in front of the other. So I am going to write from where I am. Courageous truth telling it is! Self-love gets to win this time.

If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and judgement. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive. Brene Brown