BREAKING: Sarah Kane Exposed!

ANNOUNCEMENT:

I'm a fraud.

(And hey, that's okay, because you are too. More on that later.)

In the six months that I've been home from Atlanta, I've been working on maintaining a carefully crafted version of myself to present to you. All of you. Friends, family, strangers, doctors, pastors, coworkers, kids, grocery store cashiers, Starbucks baristas, people in the comments section of this blog, EVERYONE.

Simply put, I'm faking it. I have a stash of smiles I keep close at hand for those awkward silences following the question, "Weren't you studying in Atlanta? Why are you home?"

It's been really, really, really, really hard to answer that question. If I was honest, I'd be able to pull out a 178 page manuscript detailing all the events of my life that led me to that place in Atlanta, and ultimately contributed to the trauma that brought me home.

The truth is, not even my parents and best friends know all the gory details that haunt me daily. There's a story-- actually, a lot of stories-- that are the reason behind my exact situation today.

But it's not appropriate, nor productive, it seems, to pull out that manuscript and start listing off depressing, scary, confusing, overwhelming, heavy reasons. So, I have instead created a nice, tidy explanation for everything. Until last night, actually! (Ooh, convenient!)

Last night, I sat in a cozy living-room with four other women, all gathered together with the intention of telling our stories over the course of several weeks. It's meant to be a safe place to make sense of our lives. I know none of these women personally, and they are all in vastly different walks of life from me. But I'm excited. Because I'm so sick of being a fraud.

I'm ready to remember who is underneath "Sarah Kane taking a gap year and recovering from a bad semester". She's far too simple and shallow. She's sickening full of explanations, excuses, "it's okay though"s, and smiles. I'm ready to cry in front of people, because I deserve to do that much, if I really believe that my messy, imperfect self is worthy of love and compassion.

I guess that's what I'm getting at by this post:

I need to stop being scared of my messy realities, because I am WORTH the work it will take to unravel my questions, sorrows, and traumas. 

That is what I'm getting at.

Oh, that and:

We are all frauds! I'm well aware that every time I run into you in Ingles and ask "how are you?" your answer is probably partly, if not entirely, a lie. "I'm good! Things are good!" may be true, and if it is, lucky you! But maybe it's not. And I understand you have a crafted version of yourself that you pull out during run-ins like that. Who can blame you? It's the way it is. It's called "socially acceptable behavior".

But when you've got a trauma, or even just mild heartache brimming beneath the surface, over time you start to feel detached from yourself. I feel like I've started pulling out over-simplified explanations for my OWN sake. Like when I look in the mirror, there's a fake smile there for MYSELF, too.

And that's scary, because I don't want to lose myself, and that part of myself that is always so ready to DEAL with me. (Cuz, duh, I'm me and I have to!) If I can't deal with myself, love myself, try to have compassion for myself, how can I ever accept/expect those things from those around me?

That's why every Tuesday night you'll find me eating brownies and cheese cubes in a room filled with honest, crying ladies. It's a safe place, a platform for honesty, a short term commitment to people with long-term expectations of respect, kindness, acceptance, and honesty. I'm excited to talk, but also to listen-- to ask someone "how are you?" and get the treasure of HONESTY in response.

I strongly recommend that if you are feeling overwhelmingly like a fraud, that you find someone to be utterly, painfully honest with. You're worth their time.