I’m continuing the theme of authenticity this week. I’m so thankful I had the courage to write on this topic! The comments you all have left have been so encouraging for me.
Thank you for that.
It’s nice to know I’m not alone in the struggle between Authentic and Unfiltered.
Authenticity leads to real friendship.
Maybe I’m the only crazy one who has done this. I doubt it. So here goes.
I used to be so insecure. (I still am, but it’s different.) I spent all my time and energy pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I worked hard to be the person I thought my friends wanted to be friends with. I pretended to have the same perfect house that they seemed to have. At one point I even let myself be part of a private FB group of Downton Abby fans when I’d never watched the show. (I’m more of a sci-fi girl.)
You know what happened? I was never confident of those friendships. I had a lingering doubt. I was afraid my friends wouldn’t like me if the knew who I actually was.
You know what else happened? I felt lonely and isolated.
It wasn’t until I got real and quit pretending that anything changed. You know what happened when I stopped pretending and actually admitted I struggled with laundry?
You know what happened when I admitted I wasn’t a fan of English Period Romances?
The more transparent I became, the more “me too” moments I found myself having. I formed deep connections. I stopped feeling isolated and lonely. I started trusting the friendships I was forming.
Authenticity leads to something precious.
It’s not just “me too.” It’s the half-choked whisper that often follows.
I thought I was the only one.
Have you ever felt it? I know I have.
Sometimes, I’ve been so wrapped up in Satan’s lies that I actually thought I was the ONLY mom to ever toss a towel over a wet bed and tuck my kid back into bed. I’ve been deceived into thinking I was the ONLY mother to ever toss a dirty soccer uniform into the dryer fifteen minutes before game time (or pull it out of the pile and spray it with Febreeze).
I know… I’m not the only one.
When Satan starts that thing about me being a horrible mom because I’ve done something imperfect, it really really helps to know I’m not alone. I’m not a horrible mom.
In the broader scheme, it’s kind of awesome to realize that MY willingness to be transparent can steal satan’s thunder like that. In honestly, its humbling and scary and empowering all rolled up in one.
That sweet precious whisper of “I thought I was the only one” has Jesus written all over it.
It’s right there in that moment when our friend drops their mask that we can reach out and love them right there in their own mess.
It’s right there when we can celebrate that we are ALL hot messes*.
Sweet mom. You aren’t alone. You’re not a horrible wife or mother or friend. You are not the only one.
I’d love to hear your stories. Is there a “me too” moment you’d be willing to share?