Just so you know

My sister thinks it should be a bracelet; I lean more toward a lanyard.  A t-shirt for the younger set. Whatever method we decide on, we’re just aiming for something along the lines of a medical alert notification that an old person would wear.  Just so people know what’s going on.

We laughed at the idea as our friend was telling us about her daughter who’s had rough time lately.  Her filter is sort of off kilter.  Her memory is a sort of hazy.  So her bracelet might read, Recovering from a brain injury.  Between the lines you’d read, So help me figure out how I know you.  And don’t hate me if I lack tact.  I’m working on it.  But it’s so hard.

I have young friends straddling the adolescent and adult worlds, completely unsure what about their futures.  I tease my college son that his t-shirt ought to spell it out.  I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t know what I think or feel or should think or feel about the girl I’m dating.  Yes, I want to get married.  No, not soon.  Don’t ask me any more questions.

I vote for the lanyard like we get at conferences, those little plastic sleeves with card stock inserts.  Because then we could change out the cards depending on what’s going on.  Or maybe if you had that kind of bracelet with snap-out faces that would work.  They wouldn’t be excuses; they would just help explain things succinctly without a lot of fuss.  We’d know what we’re all dealing with with a simple glance.  So many questions answered without really getting into it.

The past month most of us would’ve needed a stack of card stock squares for our lanyards or at least changeable bracelet faces.  The week before Christmas is always a doozy.

Some of my cards would’ve read 

• I’m sick. I’m holding it together just for this.  I know I seem regular but this is hard for me.
• I’m not sure I’m the right person for what I’ve been asked to do.  I could give you the names of a hundred other women who I’d like to nominate for the job.
• I still haven’t figured out how to know how God is talking to me and I need him desperately and I’m frustrated that I’m this old and still don’t get it.
• I’m not sure how to do Christmas.  I know I should have this kind of stuff figured out, I’m old, I should know better.  I hate that I even have to worry about this.  It’s not even what it’s about.  I know that, but I’m the mom.  The magic maker.  Even when I’m running on close to E.
• I want to make things nice for my family who’s coming to visit.  I want to pamper them.  But if I could really have my wish, I just want to be in bed with my fluffy Christmas novels.
• I don’t know what to say to your nice words.  I can’t take credit for any of it.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond.  But you are so sweet.
• No, we aren’t doing that great Lighting the World or anything else.  We’re doing awesome just to gather at the bookends of the day and at least listen to how other people are serving.
• I’m feeling sad and left out today. I’ll be fine.  But yes, that’s smeared mascara.  Not to worry, I’ll wash it off tonight.
• I want to be the person I need to be.  But I wonder how if I’ll ever get there.
• I am heartbroken. And I have no idea how to fix our relationship.
• I’m jealous over how much will power so many of you have and all the amazing things you’re doing.

I can’t help but think of all the cards I could pass out to the people I love, who have confided in me recently.

• I’m stressed about school.  I feel dumb. I try so hard.  I don’t get it, it is so frustrating and discouraging.
• I honestly have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.  Yes, I have a major.  But I wonder if it’s going to work out or if it’s even what I want to do. I’m unsettled and not sure what I should do next semester. Or for my life.
• I just had surgery a month ago.  I’m tired. I know you’re all depending on me.  But I feel tired.
• I’m worried about my kids.  I can’t talk about it.  But I’m heartbroken.
• I don’t want to be here.  But I’m making the best of it.
• I feel so weak.  I want to be able to do normal life.  But I’m sick.
• I feel so vulnerable.  I don’t have anything left.  But they’re all depending on me to be strong. I can’t let them down.
• We would love to have more kids.  I’ve had two miscarriages.  I’m so sad about it.
• I want to change the world, but I’m only one little person. I’m discouraged about the problems in the world. And I’m confused.
• I’m lonely.
• My marriage may be over. I don’t know whether to desperately try to hold it together or resign myself and move on.
• I’m overwhelmed and have no idea where to start.

Ideally, we could be good enough friends that bracelets and lanyards would be dropped by the side of the road when we run to see each other and we would just embrace and get right to it.  And obviously that’s easier with closer friends; those t-shirts and things would be for the benefit of strangers who you don’t really want to get into things with.

But let’s go back to the close friends part.  I’ve questioned this a million times.  Especially the older and more impatient I get.  Why can’t we be real? I get it when it’s not your story to tell, like if it’s your kids or husband causing you sadness.  But why can’t we tell each other what’s really going on within our own hearts?

What would happen if we opened up and shared even a little? Well, I can tell you two scenarios.  One, the person you’re talking with will be surprised at your candor and shuffle the conversation around because it’s gotten too uncomfortable.  And we’ll go back to talking about how much snow we’ve gotten.  Bummer.  Or, her eyes will fill with tears at the very same time yours do.  You’ll connect.  You’ll have forged some kind of weird sister bond right there on the spot; neither of you will ever be the same.  And you will forever be friends.  Even if you hardly ever see each other again.  And maybe there’s some middle ground, but I haven’t noticed that as much.  Usually I’m shut down (always very politely of course) or we’ve united on a deeper level.  I just think it’s worth taking the risk.

Because what will happen if you confide you’ve been dealing with infertility for years? Or you have social anxiety? Or you can’t seem to get going these days? Or you feel discouraged as you see your life pass by and you wonder if this is all you’re here for?  Or you're feeling paralyzed by all these decisions about what to do at this crossroad? Or you're feeling regret over the past? To admit any of this? What then?

I’d say this is why so many women tear up when we let our guards down and share what we’ve been tucking away. We release.  Both of us. We exhale. It’s such a relief. Immediately we both feel normal and understood and heard.  Heartfelt communication is connection.  And don’t we need that more than almost anything else these days?

So it’s up to you whether you hide behind a smile or a printed t-shirt.  But consider the option of not hiding at all.  Maybe take a chance with someone you feel you can trust, maybe a friend you don’t know yet but just have a good feeling about.  Maybe slow down when it comes to that part of the conversation and start with something small, something like, Can I be honest?