Recently, some drama arose regarding a very old post, which honestly is such old news. I could go in to the sordid, dramatic details but rehashing the hurt feelings from my honest and, if I do say so myself, hilarious words would probably only make things worse at this point.
But it does flow nicely in to a topic that I’ve wanted to post about for a while. That topic is: Honesty.
I think we can all agreed that I can be a little blunt, a little call-’em-as-I-see-’em. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from this whole blogging experience, it’s that the truth shall set you free.
Seriously. I just wrote that. (We can all gag in unison now.)
But fer reals, yo. I don’t think I have felt anything as liberating as being completely truthful, whether the person wants to hear it or not (which, of course has it’s own repercussions).
The first time I experienced the cathartic release of honesty was back in the olden days when I wrote my Losing My Religion post.
Months prior to writing that post, I had become part of a local Bunco group (Shut up. Rolling Dice isn’t just for old ladies anymore! However, momnesia and fatigue plus wine and having to count things is kind of conundrum for me. Too much work. But I digress…). It quickly became very obvious to me that these ladies were not only religious (hi ladies!) but religion played a very large and important role in their lives. To each his/her own, right?
While no one brought up the topic with me directly, I was always on pins and needles waiting for the inevitable, “So which church do you go to?” to which I would be horribly uncomfortable wondering if they would (1) stone me in the public square, or (2) (worse) not invite me back to play with them when I told them that church/organized religion/God/et al is not really my thing (which, in itself is a total understatement).
Months later, after creating this blog as a way to funnel my verbal incontinence and commemorate Bee’s early years in an embarrassing and completely inappropriate manner, I decided that come hell or high water I would out myself and my views on the topic.
And you know what happened?
Nothing.
Well, nothing except that I suddenly was having an exponentially better time at Bunco because you know what? Now they knew the real me. They read the blog (hello, again, ladies!) and suddenly I wasn’t scared that they would gasp and be all “why I never!” if I accidentally dropped an F-bomb during a round (which, I’m guessing that they probably still gasp but just an inward, silent one. Or maybe it’s outward but I’m just too busy laughing at my own jokes to notice. I guess we’ll never know…).
And just the other day, I tried this whole honesty thing out on some friends of mine. Last month or so, when I was really having a hard time with my anxiety and stress and, let’s be honest, emotionally I think I was hanging on by a thread, I had invited a few mommy friends to a local park so the kids could play together. They never responded to my invitation, but it was totally the definition of last minute, so I wasn’t upset.
Since it was on the way (and I’m kind of a stalker…sorry, but we’re being honest, right?), I happened to drive by one of their houses on the way home, only to see that the other mom was there, also. And (SHOCK – how could it be?!?!) I had not been invited.
Now to the normal person (maybe even the “normal” Mama Bee when she’s not having a serious mental breakdown), this probably wouldn’t be a big deal. But for me, then, I was thoroughly convinced that my (1) friends didn’t like me, (2) I was a black sheep outcast because of my cold, barren womb, and (3) basically I was an unlovable, sucky friend who would die alone and friendless. Okay, maybe that third one is exaggerating just a bit, but poor Mr. Bee couldn’t convince me to save his life that my friends actually did like me, etc., etc.
With the help of an understanding (and obviously, much more wise) friend, I was convinced that No, my friends didn’t hate me, and Yes, I was crazy.
Some Xanax and Zoloft later, I confessed my craziness to my friends recently and now it’s just something funny that crazy, unstable Mama Bee did.
And I feel so much better knowing that they know what I was feeling and going through! (Albeit, they probably think I’m a crazy stalker now, but if the shoe fits…)
Of course, you are forced to walk that thin and wobbly line of being honest and the possibility of hurting someone’s feelings. Like do you really tell a friend that they’ve hurt your feelings when it’s too late for anything to be done about it? Do you passive-aggressively tell a friend of a friend in the hope that your feelings will eventually get back to the target without you actually having to confront them yourself? (Not that I would ever dream of doing something like that…)
Or, if you’re like me, you just write about it on your blog.
Song title: Honestly Speaking by DJ Green Lantern
I began cheering when I was like eight years old and continued through high school. In fact, I was CAPTAIN of the cheer squad my senior year of high school. (Okay, co-captain, but captain just sound so much more prestigious…)
The Cool Kids