That’s right, telling the truth is some bullshit.
Yeah, I wrote it – bullshit.
You remember when you were a kid and the grow’d-ups told you how wrong it was to tell a lie. You were supposed to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help you “deity of choice”.
But then what would happen, you’d tell the truth and all hell would break loose.
“I don’t like peas.” ; “Well that’s too bad, you’re going to sit there until you’ve cleaned your plate!”…or worse.
“I don’t feel like going to church today.”; “What?! You better get you butt upstairs, get some clothes on and c’mon here before you make us late to Sunday school!”…or worse.
“I don’t like Uncle so-n-so”; “Well that’s just mean. You’re going to hurt his feelings. Go over there and let him give you a kiss.” …the ultimate or worse (gag).
“Hello, (insurance agent). Yeah. I just had a minor fender bender. No, no major damage to either vehicle. I just thought I should report it since there’s going to be a police report and in case the other guy decides later on to sue or something. Thanks.” Bill arrives and the rate has doubled, or you switch insurance and that next rate is sky high.
Taxes – yes, that’s my full income. IRS – Ha! then you owe us more money.
And so on.
I was seven years old when we moved back to the states from England. I had a British accent (which I loved) and could read on a much higher level than quite a few of my peers. The kids in my first grade class wanted to know why I talked the way I did, so I told the truth – Air Force brat, born in Germany, lived in England. I was bullied, called a liar, and ostracized right up until I started lying and telling everyone I was born in Africa. No particular country mind you, just that I was from Africa. That was enough to at least earn me some street cred so the bullying eased up some. Right up until second grade when I moved to a different school. Tried that lie again and got called (rightfully so) a liar. The bullying began anew as did the “you don’t belong with us” treatment.
I was maybe 11 or 12 when I snapped back at an older gentleman who had been wildly inappropriate in his conversations with me for awhile. He never touched me but he damn sure made it obvious he would if he thought he could get away with it. All my mom heard was me snapping back – telling him to never speak to me again. I got in trouble for being disrespectful to an elder, she didn’t want to hear why I’d done it – she didn’t want to hear my truth.
At 18 I was raped by my boyfriend while away at college. I came home that summer and due to some shenanigans, ended up telling my mom a bit about what had happened. She asked me if I’d been raped but by then, on a subconscious level, I knew what happened to girls who told the truth about rape, so I lied to her and myself, “Nope,” I said, “I wasn’t raped.” It would be over 25 years before I told myself the truth. I haven’t and won’t tell my mom though. EVER!
Here we are, I’m 51 years old and I find I’m still more likely to out right lie rather than tell the truth about how I feel, what I really think, what I want, who I am, what my desires are…
As a Black (and as a) Woman I’ve learned that speaking my truth gets me labeled as a:
- Slut if I speak freely of my desire for sexual gratification
- Angry if I speak of my desire for respect and fair treatment or speak out against abuses
- Bitter if I say I don’t want anything less than my definition of a real man
- Prude if I say NO to casual, and most often unwanted, advances
- Bitch if I tell you I’m not in the mood for the foolishness
- Conceited if I tell you the truth of my intelligence and my talent
I want to stop with the pretense. I want to stop being afraid of the labels, the perceptions and misconceptions. I just want to tell my truth and be at peace within myself.
And that’s where we are today loves. I’ll be back with an update on this week’s contributions to my 30 Day Consistency Challenge. Meanwhile, hope you have a lovely rest of your week.
Sending love and light,