Sometimes it’s hard to be honest about certain things. Things that make it glaringly obvious that we’re not always as nice/kind/friendly/generous – insert appropriate word here – as we would love for everyone to think. We hide behind those masks and only reveal elements of ourselves, until it’s too tiring, the masks are too heavy, and our walls come down.
This is a very good thing. It’s hard to be real. But it’s also the best thing ever. Freedom comes. Lightness comes. And the feeling you get when you know that someone knows YOU, and all of you, AND still loves you, is worth more than anything.
I recently shared something not-so-fun with someone. It was hard. But it was also very necessary (how ridiculous is it being a responsible adult!) and very worthwhile. Good for my mind, my soul, my mental health, my everything.
It reminds me a little of this. From The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams. A classic. And a very smart passage, if you’ll choose to ‘see’…
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.” “Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”