telling the truth

because avoiding it has only gotten us so far

People my entire adult life have tiptoed around the subject—have decided to let me lead. It must feel fragile to them. And I don’t blame them—sometimes it feels too overwhelming to even understand the dead dad of it all myself. How complex it all is. Layered. Inexplicable.

In a way, I’ve embraced the people not knowing part of my adult life. It felt better than the everyone knowing part of my teenage years. I could start over. I could be someone else. But, of course, it’s not something I could ever run away completly from. At times it’s felt lonely, almost strange when someone I loved didn’t know.

In the unavoidable times, it’s my one job to cut the tension (and I’m quite good at it if I do say so myself). The “That’s so sad’s” and the “I’m so sorry’s” are appreciated, acknowledged. Always followed up with a “That’s okay!” or a “Just my life!” This approach is effective because it is rare that people have many follow-up questions. Their discomfort and my deflection, historically, leads them away from the topic. I can count on my hands the times someone has really dove in. Asked questions. Been genuinely curious and unafraid to understand me.

The truth is that I don’t want to tip toe around it. That it’s okay to ask the “wrong questions” (there are no wrong questions) or say the “wrong thing” (also no such thing). That their fear of doing or saying something “wrong” isolates me. That I wish deeply it didn’t have to be a dark cloud.

Asking questions is how we make others feel seen. All we want is to be known. To be understood. Talking about it doesn’t hurt. The questions people are scared to ask—the ones they avoid—and my own avoidance, that is what hurts.

Someone I once loved revealed to me that they had considered not pursuing a relationship with me because of my loss. They too had taken the evasive approach. And the implication of their words? The all too familiar alarm sounded in my head: “damaged goods, damaged goods, damaged goods.” At the time I sympathized with them—I thought of course, of course that would be a hesitation. And for them, it should have been something to really think about. Not from my perspective, but from the lens of their own fragility.

It’s hard not to resent that it’s ever been a factor. I resent my own pain. I resent the fear of my pain; the avoidance of my loss. Because it’s exhausting to take the lead.

No matter how hard I try to make my life distinctly my own, I’ll always be the girl who lost her dad in a plane crash. And there will always be that little girl inside of me that wanted so desperately for him to be able show up for me when he was still alive. There’s no running left in me. The reminders are everywhere. Somedays I hate that he’s in every reflection I see. But I’ll never hide the pieces of me that are his.

Losing him and my complicated relationship with him are forever a part of who I am—forever weaved within the fabric of me, but I’m working on leaving parts of it behind. Mostly the deep shame of it all. Moving into the part of my life where it isn’t mine to carry or make-up for anymore. The shame of his chaos. That his choice are somehow a reflection of me.

Shame is one of the darkest part of being human—and it will eat us alive if we let it. We all have it. It’s what we do with it that matters. Our equalizer, the end, awaits us all.

“You’ll meet them all again on their long journey to the middle.” - Lester Bangs

Life awaits us too. To be human is to suffer. But I’ll be damned if that’s all I’ll do. Now, of course, the hard part is breaking yourself free from the suffering—from the narcissism of pain.

Getting there is not linear. The journey is filled with detours, pit stops and outright crash outs (pun intended). This is my first life—yours too. So I do not blame you if my vulnerability makes you uncomfortable. If my honesty makes you cringe. If my capacity to speak the truth out loud scares you. The only way I can imagine to live is without regret.

“Let’s not forget these early days
Remember we begin the same
We lose our way in fear and pain
Oh joy begin” - Dave Matthews Band

Some days are beautiful from start to finish. Some days are really weird. Most days are just time passing. Then some days you get a message from your baby sister that a song reminds her of you. And you tell her that it’s funny because the same song has always reminded you of your older sister. And in the quickest of moments you realize that it’s all alright.

Every bit of it. The smallest price to pay for the deepest love one could ever wish for. Like your heart got ripped out and lives outside of your chest. It now lives in the world, and that’s what makes you, you. And maybe, just maybe, it’s your gift to leave it in world. To share all the little pieces of your heart with them. The dark, the broken, the heaviest and the lightest parts. To write like you’ve cut a vein. To write to be free.

So maybe our pain isn’t a burden. Maybe it’s a gift. Let’s make the most before the jig is up.