“Be authentic in your relationships.” ~ That’s what the leaders of the church urge.
“Bring authenticity to your character.” ~ That’s what the directors say.
“Be authentic in your writing” ~ is what Therapist eludes to when I explain why I haven’t published any blog posts or finished any stories lately.
There are many benefits of being authentic. I get that. Integrity: good. Trust: good. Realized potential: good.
However, the problem with becoming authentic is: often it’s difficult, and sometimes it comes with a price.
Becoming authentic means dealing with your crap – even if that means risking the loss of a relationship because you have to admit past betrayals.
Becoming authentic means taking off the mask – even when it means risking a friendship because you need to admit you want something more – or, conversely, admitting that you don’t want something more.
Becoming authentic means being honest – even if it means hurting a loved one’s feelings because you admit you hate they way they make grilled cheese sandwiches. (this rarely happens. grilled cheese is awesome)
A lot of risk is involved with becoming authentic. And what is risk? Risk isSo. To truly “become authentic” means having to “take a risk,” and you can’t take a risk without first confronting the fear: the fear that someone won’t like you – the fear that you may not like you.
That’s the problem. If you are authentic, somebody is not going to like you, and you have to be ok with it.
I told Therapist I wasn’t writing because the posts & stories were too dark, too heavy. I don’t want to finish them. “But that’s where you are right now,” he nudged.
“But…I like writing funny posts. I like making people laugh.”
Because of course I do. Funny people are liked, funny people are loved.
Soo…yeah. Those unfinished, unpublished (& probably very unfunny) posts about grief and depression and betrayal and all the other dark stuff I don’t want to write about? They’re coming.