Beauty of a Painful Honesty

There is subtle but real pressure to be “fine” when we are asked how we are. To respond with social politeness that we’re “OK”. To not acknowledge the stresses and pain of life. It’s socially acceptable to be “busy” or “stressed” but not “struggling” or “down”.

I’m not sure that pressure is purely a cultural one…I think it can be an internal psychic pressure we impose on ourselves. We often hide our own pain even from ourselves. Pain makes us vulnerable, and for many of us, that’s frightening. Like animals scared to show their throats, we hide our pain, and if anyone comes close to bumping up against the pain, likely all they’ll see is bared teeth and a snarl.

I’ve spent some time thinking these days about the admiration I have for people who can live with vulnerability, acknowledging the stressors of life and living with the painful tragedy that they might find themselves in. There are those who are able to hold the tension of this vulnerable and open living with pain with a calmness that also sees beauty and has a sense of gratitude.

For some, acknowledging the difficulty doesn’t seem to hold the fear that vulnerability often implies. They admit struggles and foibles, weakness and failure-and it doesn’t diminish or overwhelm-and in fact, the refreshing forthrightness of vulnerability is actually attractive and admirable. The vulnerability connects them with others, and creates space and opportunity for authentic and whole-some conversations, enriching the conversants. The vulnerability creates a mindfulness that opens a person not only to feeling the pain, but being able to soak in the small beauty of holding a child’s hand (even in the hospital), valuing things that can be otherwise overlooked (the pattern of raindrops on the window), and acts of kindness (like when my kids actually put their cereal bowls in the dishwasher without being reminded!)

God just hears a melody

Beautiful the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah