Elephant is in the Room

I’ve been lying my whole life.

 

I lied in kindergarten that I liked games that never interested me. I lied that I enjoyed doing homework, even when everyone else had the freedom to say it was their least favorite activity. I lied to teachers that I had been studying for exams for days, when in reality I sat with my books the night before, under pressure and the weight of expectations — from the same people who didn’t give me silence to study in, but chaos and arguments instead.

Today,I lie that I’m not tired.
I lie about the small details that make everything sound nicer and make it easier for you to listen to me.

Like a chameleon — a color with no single shade. Just a spectrum without an end. And I blend into whatever shade the person in front of me prefers.

We all lie.
Somewhere along the way, we were all sent the same message: a part of us must be censored.

It’s not okay to be loud, but it’s not okay to be quiet either.
It’s not okay to want a career, instead – you should have  a boyfriend, but then you’re too focused on your partner.

And somewhere between all of this a big question appears: Do you even exist?

 

That’s why I’ve been lying my whole life.
I smooth the ears of whoever listens with perfect stories — the kind I know will soften their perception of me just long enough before they get the space to really know me and find my flaws.

People laugh. Conversations flow.
And in all that noise, they somehow forget that I exist. That I ever existed.

And that makes me feel safe.

The truth is naked.

In the truth we are vulnerable. When we are honest, there are no walls of lies to hide behind, nothing to cover us from the world. We are completely exposed — but at least we are whole.

If people knew how much they hurt us.
If they knew how many days look nothing like Instagram stories.

If they knew we didn’t want to go to that stupid brunch.
And that no — we don’t want to help for the fifty-eighth time because we have a life too.

If they knew we’re angry.
That we’re full of curses and bitterness.
That sometimes we cry on schedule because our bodies hurt from working so much.

Would they still love us?

Do they love us when we’re happy?
Or are we too much even then?

I’ve been lying my whole life that I don’t want to go far.
I’ve been hiding how badly I want to start my own business and how recklessly I sometimes spend money on nonsense.

I lie that I’m not in love.

I lie that I’m not happy as much as I lie that I’m not sad.

Would they love themselves next to us when we’re happy?
Or would we have crossed a line they don’t want to try crossing?

I’ve been lying my whole life that I’m someone I’m not — just so they would keep me around. So they would allow me to be part of their lives.

I don’t talk about the days when I’m not doing well,so I wouldn’t seem negative.
I don’t talk about the days when I’m happy, so I wouldn’t poke at the quiet sadness I see inside them.

The sadness rarely comes out openly.
Most often it appears as cynicism. The kind that is, of course, “for my own good.”

We were taught to censor every part of our being so we could be placed into a little box. A box that can then be moved wherever it suits others.

Just don’t stand out.
Don’t be too bright.
Don’t laugh too loudly.

Smile politely and, during Sunday coffee, present the top three compromises you’re currently making with life, because:

“You can’t have everything you want.”

So I spend my whole life lying and apologizing for everything I am — and everything I might want to become.

I hide those apologies behind a quiet straightening of my spine.
Inside of me – stubbornness, rebellion, and little internal revolutions fight with a single thought:

Let me make your life easier for a few more days — so you don’t make my life any harder.

I lie because of every reaction that sends me the same message again:

It’s not okay to be you.

Maybe the first step is admitting to ourselves that we’ve become pathological liars just to feel safe in our environment.

And then… we grow up.

A day comes when the salary is ours.
When the four walls belong to us.
When the debts are paid.

Education gives us a wider vocabulary to explain ourselves to ourselves.

And one day, we stop lying.

We love who we want to love.
We wear what we want to wear.
We study what we want, because we’re the ones who will do our jobs, not our mothers.

We wake up into our own life.

Under sunlight, we chose ourselves, the day we signed the lease for this little concrete box, someone profited from.

And everything looks more than beautiful.

To us.

Because the beauty of personal choice is that it is personal.

Mom, Dad — thank you for life.
But luckily and unfortunately, I’m the one living it.

The chameleon, as a spiritual animal leaves the room.

And the elephant enters.

This time I won’t lie to you.
The elephant is in the room. You put it there — you deal with it.

And I’m going to Cuba.

To wear every color that exists.
To drink coffee with people who won’t mind that I’m too much for one coffee — so they’ll order lunch too.

I’m going to dance.
To feel myself.
To allow someone else to feel me on every level that another human being can.

To prove to myself that not every connection is unsafe.

I’m going to cry somewhere for two hours.
Let the whole world collapse on my head.

And then irresponsibly leave it tangled in my hair and walk away.

I’m going to sleep.

Because I’m tired.

I’m honestly tired. 
And no, I don’t want to stay for one more drink.

But thank you.

I’ve spent my whole life not telling the truth. At least now I am writing it. It seems we really do learn as long as we live.

So come closer to your own truth. Let it rise, even if it trembles. Let it break your voice, soften your edges, undo the careful stories you’ve been hiding inside. 

Be honest- recklessly, tenderly honest, if only for a moment, if only for yourself.