I’ve always been a firm believer in authenticity. Believing
that the best friendships and relationships are ones born out of genuine, real,
honest, and vulnerable conversations. I’ve always been an open book, willing
and happy to share almost anything with anybody who wanted to know. I’ve been
quick to trust and quick to extend grace, love, and forgiveness allowing myself
to trust again. I’ve always been told I’m too open, too easily trusting, and
that I need to “guard my heart.” Not even always in the dating sense, just in a
general sense. But I’ve never believed
it. I’ve never bought into the idea that I could somehow be more content if I
kept more to myself, if I was more cautious with what I shared and with whom.
I’ve never believed it and I’ve never wanted to believe it.
But somehow I’m beginning to realize that there is so much value in selective sharing. There are people in this world who will always have your back and always protect you. But there are also people in this world who are in it for themselves. Knowing the difference is essential, but it might be one of the hardest differences to discern, because even those who are in it for themselves will come across as if they’re in it for you. It’s a scary and sad thing that we have to discipline ourselves to act with this discernment. It would be so easy to live in a world where gossip didn’t exist, and people didn’t go behind people’s backs, and things didn’t end up getting back to everyone.
The worst part about all of this is that I’m a hypocrite. I’m just as guilty of talking badly about people, or gossiping about someone, or the classic “well so and so told me not to tell anyone, but I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to tell anyone.” We’ve all done it at one point or another, but I can’t stand to live in these tangled webs anymore. And the easiest way to ensure that what I tell someone in confidence doesn’t get out to people is to just not tell them anymore. It’s as simple as that. There’s one thing that’s as true about life as our needing oxygen to survive, and that is that you cannot control what other people are going to do, you can only control what you do.
I just wrote a short poem about not allowing life to callous our once tender souls, but I believe I’ve become calloused. Time has worn on this tender soul and turned it rough on the edges. I know I’ll learn to trust again, just as time wore down on my heart it’ll just as surely wear away the hardened edges, softening it again to authentic relationship. I just hope that this time I wouldn’t let myself forget the pain that can come from being too open with too many people. I hope that as my heart is molded and shaped I would be able to find a balance between being authentic and being cautious, that I wouldn’t let myself share so much so soon with so many people. Rather, that I would be able to pursue truly knowing someone, and commit to keeping whatever they trust with me to myself.
I desire change in how I handle relationships. I desire for a shift in how much I let people in. The only trouble is, no matter how much I desire a change; it doesn’t make changing any easier. Just because it’s what I want doesn’t mean I’ll be able to easily attain it. It’ll take time, and I’m sure I’ll mess it up a few times along the way. But I want to work through the difficulty of being acutely aware of what I’m willing to share in order to better protect myself. It makes me so sad and almost guilty to admit that trust is something I’ll have to gain from people when it’s always been something I’ve freely given. I hate that I have to shift my focus in such a way.
I once had a conversation with a friend who asks people really good questions. I wanted to be more like him in the sense that his conversations with people seldom focus on himself. It’s so admirable to see a person so invested in others and I respect his ability to discern who he’ll open up to. I might try this as a means of self-preservation. If I focus my perspective outwards I’ll be able to better filter how much and how soon I share things with others. Trust is built over years, but can be broken in a moment. I’ve learned what it means to trust and be trusted, but I’ve also learned what it looks like when trust is broken. I’ve always been quick to trust, but (sadly) I’m starting to understand that sometimes you have to allow trust to be built.
But somehow I’m beginning to realize that there is so much value in selective sharing. There are people in this world who will always have your back and always protect you. But there are also people in this world who are in it for themselves. Knowing the difference is essential, but it might be one of the hardest differences to discern, because even those who are in it for themselves will come across as if they’re in it for you. It’s a scary and sad thing that we have to discipline ourselves to act with this discernment. It would be so easy to live in a world where gossip didn’t exist, and people didn’t go behind people’s backs, and things didn’t end up getting back to everyone.
The worst part about all of this is that I’m a hypocrite. I’m just as guilty of talking badly about people, or gossiping about someone, or the classic “well so and so told me not to tell anyone, but I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to tell anyone.” We’ve all done it at one point or another, but I can’t stand to live in these tangled webs anymore. And the easiest way to ensure that what I tell someone in confidence doesn’t get out to people is to just not tell them anymore. It’s as simple as that. There’s one thing that’s as true about life as our needing oxygen to survive, and that is that you cannot control what other people are going to do, you can only control what you do.
I just wrote a short poem about not allowing life to callous our once tender souls, but I believe I’ve become calloused. Time has worn on this tender soul and turned it rough on the edges. I know I’ll learn to trust again, just as time wore down on my heart it’ll just as surely wear away the hardened edges, softening it again to authentic relationship. I just hope that this time I wouldn’t let myself forget the pain that can come from being too open with too many people. I hope that as my heart is molded and shaped I would be able to find a balance between being authentic and being cautious, that I wouldn’t let myself share so much so soon with so many people. Rather, that I would be able to pursue truly knowing someone, and commit to keeping whatever they trust with me to myself.
I desire change in how I handle relationships. I desire for a shift in how much I let people in. The only trouble is, no matter how much I desire a change; it doesn’t make changing any easier. Just because it’s what I want doesn’t mean I’ll be able to easily attain it. It’ll take time, and I’m sure I’ll mess it up a few times along the way. But I want to work through the difficulty of being acutely aware of what I’m willing to share in order to better protect myself. It makes me so sad and almost guilty to admit that trust is something I’ll have to gain from people when it’s always been something I’ve freely given. I hate that I have to shift my focus in such a way.
I once had a conversation with a friend who asks people really good questions. I wanted to be more like him in the sense that his conversations with people seldom focus on himself. It’s so admirable to see a person so invested in others and I respect his ability to discern who he’ll open up to. I might try this as a means of self-preservation. If I focus my perspective outwards I’ll be able to better filter how much and how soon I share things with others. Trust is built over years, but can be broken in a moment. I’ve learned what it means to trust and be trusted, but I’ve also learned what it looks like when trust is broken. I’ve always been quick to trust, but (sadly) I’m starting to understand that sometimes you have to allow trust to be built.
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