In the last few months, the majority of my dreams are about houses, rooms, opulent and ornate home decorations, and, most of all, furniture that I am rearranging only for the furniture to return to the placement that I was dissatisfied with in the beginning. Anyone who knows me even the slightest knows how intrigued and enamored I am with the sleeping time dream world left for interpretation when awake as well as making the literal dreams and goals I have in my mind a reality.
Well, last night, I had yet another dream about houses and furniture and, in particular, a pale blue soft sofa with faded pink and white lily prints. This was a real couch from when I was a little girl. I remember my tiny feet sinking into the sofa when I tried to stand up tall and without falling to sing into my yellow toy microphone when I was a little girl. I woke up remembering that couch and then thinking of my mother.
That simple pale blue sofa was the first out of many household items that my mother had removed and took with her when she walked out the door on our family. I still remember walking into a nearly empty home with all the familiar furniture that I grew up with all gone.
I cried to my dad: “Why did she have to take everything when she was leaving everything and everyone?”
Of course, my dad did not have an answer. Of course, my mother was gone. The thing is that furniture can be replaced. People cannot. Especially your own mother.
A couple years after my mother left, I finally bluntly asked my mother these three burning questions: “Why did you take everything like the furniture with you? Why did you leave? Why did you have an affair?”
Without missing a beat, she gave me one answer to three questions, “The devil made me do it.”
It was right then and there I made an internal decision and promise about truth versus lies: “I would tell and receive truth no matter how much it may hurt, because I rather the real that contains hurt and pain than the false to feel good and only be lied to.”
Fast forward to over twenty years later when my half-sister gazed at me with her big brown eyes and asked me: “What happened with mom and you? I want to know the truth someday. I have a right to know.”
Truth? Where would I start? Where could I possibly begin? Did she really have the right to know, and was it me that had to tell her? I could have told her every single truth that came from lies. I could have told her everything. And, I do mean EVERYTHING. But, when I looked at her so vulnerable and innocent, I saw myself when I was a little girl asking my parents about truth from their mistakes and from lies, and felt this strange sense of a protective pull in me. I did not have the right nor was it my responsibility to crush her and, even worse, her relationship with our mother. It would not be right of me to hurt her, no matter how much I had been hurt by our mother. It was not my place to tell her the truth.
So, I told her that and then concluded, “If a truth is meant to come out then it will.”
Who I was when I was 10-years-old about telling the truth no matter how much it hurt to the people I loved the most is now who I am becoming through what I am learning about truth and lies. Over the years, I have had a roller coaster ride of experiences that have put me in places of unasked and unwanted truths and lies to myself as well as to the people I love and care about. Reactions to my honest opinions have been that I am a human frying pan or blunt thumbtack, resulting in my own understanding that people usually want to hear what they want to hear and not listen to the truth because it hurts too much. I’ve learned in life with people to not to share your ‘truthful’ opinion until you are asked and most wish for a sounding board and to be listened to without judgment and with an open mind and ears. I also think that people most often know the truth but it is too hard to face it, say it, digest it, and, especially, accept it and be true to yourself.
Over twenty years later and my determination about truth versus lies is that it is more important to be kind than to be right—even if that means withholding the truth for the greater good. If nothing good is to come out from the truth and there will only be hurt and harm, then what is the point to telling the truth? Have you ever been in this situation of the weight of the world on you and keeping quiet to try to be the better and bigger person for that greater good?
‘Truth’ possess many different perceptions and angles. What is your truth may not necessarily be the truth of another. Do we see our truth as we want it? Or do we see truth as it really is? When do we actually tell the ‘truth’? Do we tell ONLY when asked for it? What truths have you had to face and tell others, or, even harder, perhaps keep to yourself for the greater good? Is NOT telling the truth the same as lying? Are lies ever OK?
Keep smilin’ until we meet again,