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This past week, as you probably know by now, I shared the news of my marriage ending. This has been the hardest decision of my life, something I was nervous to talk about publicly, but how people responded more than surprised me.
I’ve seen others process pain publicly while it’s still fresh, and I knew that wasn’t the path for me.
People can react in all kinds of ways that do not necessarily make difficult decisions any easier.
People can react in all kinds of ways that do not necessarily make difficult decisions any easier.
We’ve been going through this for almost a year now, so when I chose to talk about the divorce on social media, it came more from a place of scars than wounds.
When I posted this announcement, I was scared, worried about people judging me for ruining the lives of my children.
When I posted this announcement, I was scared, worried about people judging me for ruining the lives of my children.
But this thing called the Internet can sometimes surprise us.
After hitting publish, I took a deep breath and began checking comments, bracing myself for the worst.
What came next was completely unexpected.
After hitting publish, I took a deep breath and began checking comments, bracing myself for the worst.
What came next was completely unexpected.
No hate. No vitriol. No passive-aggressive “concerns” for me. Nothing but love. Encouragement. Support. Hundreds of comments came flooding in from acquaintances, old friends, even strangers–all saying they were for me, praying for my family, hoping for the best for all of us.
On and on it went, one loving message after another. It was all so much to take in, too much to consume, that I had to go for a walk.
On my walk, I thought this must be what can happen when you share the parts of yourself you are most afraid to reveal.
On my walk, I thought this must be what can happen when you share the parts of yourself you are most afraid to reveal.
People can show up and surprise you; they can love you not in spite of those things, but because of them.
This, I think, is what we mean when we use that oft-misunderstood word “grace.” When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we are, of course, opening ourselves up to be wounded. But we are also allowing ourselves the opportunity to be made whole.
Only in the tenderness of potential pain can we experience deep love.
Until we do this work of showing up completely as ourselves, with all the parts we are afraid to bring, we can never truly be known in the ways we want.
Until we do this work of showing up completely as ourselves, with all the parts we are afraid to bring, we can never truly be known in the ways we want.
And only when we risk rejection can we experience unconditional acceptance. That’s what happened for me, and it blew me away.
I’ve been writing online for nearly a decade now, and I never expected this. When I shared a hard part of my story, one I was inclined to hide due to fear and shame, you met me with kindness.
This stirred my spirit, kindling a creative fire within, encouraging me to keep going at a time when it was hard to find a reason to do so.
When the world seems to be burning down around us, while the very fabric of our society is being ravaged by a global pandemic and political and social turmoil, I see another story being told.
There is still hope for humanity. Still room for kindness. Still a chance to love and be loved, to share our stories and be seen for what we are.
I don’t know what else to say. There’s no wise lesson here, no clever tie-in. I am just grateful and wanted to share this message with you as an encouragement as to why we share our stories: not just to heal others but to be healed ourselves.
Thank you.
Thank you.
