Journal Prompt: What do you lie about?

My instinct is to say I don't lie about anything. I am honest in all my dealings with my fellow man.

When I was growing up, my mother impressed upon me, in very strong terms, that lying is a cardinal sin and we must never do it. I don't remember the lies I told as a child, but I remember that my mama did not appreciate a liar.

So, I didn't lie. I told the truth always, much to Mom's chagrin - it turns out, sometimes parents might appreciate the occasional lie. 

The doctrine of my church stresses the importance of honesty, and I take that very seriously. To be entrusted with the care of others' feelings, one must practice honesty and transparency. So, I don't lie.

Except when I do. 

How are you? Are you okay? Yes, I'm fine. Everything is wonderful!

This is a big one for me. I understand the importance of being honest about my feelings, I do. But I also reserve the right not to spill my guts about every emotion I have. If you know me, you know I spill my guts on a fairly regular basis so it may be hard to imagine that I hold anything in reserve. Believe me, I am protecting you from some of that, some of the time.

In my marriage, we place extra importance on honesty. So I'm learning to say I'm not okay, but I'm not ready to put words to it yet. This is at least the truth, and I can trust Stephen not poke at my bruises.

The last time I visited a therapist was right after Colin died. I saw a very nice woman that my job put me in touch with. She had no idea how to counsel a person who had experienced traumatic death, and that became painfully obvious right away.

After expressing an inappropriate amount of shock and bother about the manner of Colin's death, she asked me how I was processing my experience, and I spent 40 minutes tell her about all the things I was doing: I started my day off with an hour of yoga and meditation; I had developed a morning routine of self-affirmation, journaling, and a healthy breakfast. I spent my afternoons writing and reading and drawing. Evenings were for quiet reflection, more journaling, and some stretching before an early bedtime so I could get plenty of restorative sleep. I told her all about my plans to get a cat, go to college, and change jobs. She proclaimed me her healthiest patient on record and told me to call her if anything changed.

The only part that was remotely true was that I did have plans to get a cat. Every other bit of it was false. I spent my days drinking, crying, and throwing up but I wasn't going to tell her that. I didn't get anything out of that therapy experience - because I lied.

I have a better relationship with my own emotions these days. I still cry or vomit when my body demands it, but I don't drink any longer and I rarely create such extravagant falsehood around how great I am doing.

So, how am I doing? Well ... the 20 year anniversary of Colin's death is 14 days away and I'm not okay. I will be okay, but for today I am giving myself permission to not feel great.