Honesty is not inherently rude. Even when what’s spoken doesn’t sit well with the person listening to it.
It took awhile for me to figure that out on this journey.
Tone matters, facial expression matters, words matter. But I don’t have to stuff truth in service to the comfort of others.
I never ask anyone to adjust the thermostat in a car or at home unless I’m suffocating or shivering.
It’s a point of personal pride that I can tolerate a wider range of temperatures than most people.
And for awhile, I carried that same prideful disdain for “weaker folks” into my grief journey.
I was determined to endure whatever blows might come my way via comments, behavior, subtle and not-so-subtle attempts by others to circumscribe, dictate or otherwise influence my loss experience. I didn’t want to abandon pride in my own strength by admitting I wasn’t as strong as I wished I could be.
Then one day I realized that being honest was not the same as being rude. Telling the truth was not the same as acting selfishly.
If others had access to my view of this WordPress site they’d marvel at the number of post drafts I’ve left unfinished.
As of today, it’s over a thousand.
But I won’t let them go until I feel like I’ve gotten them right. And lately I haven’t been able to do that.
It’s not traditional writer’s block because I still have lots to say, still put words on [virtual] paper and still dictate random notes onto my phone when walking or driving.
I just can’t finish the thoughts.
I’m not sure if it’s a function of the unprecedented times in which we find ourselves, the sudden and unexpected change of having my husband work from home or what I call my “season of sorrow” that lasts from the end of March through the end of May but something is definitely mucking up the works.
I hope to find a few hours soon to sit down in silence with my own thoughts and my computer and finish up new posts I’ve started.