letters and lattes

I recently finished reading The Maid and loved the interesting perspective on life, relationships and emotions narrated by the protagonist.

The excerpt below reflects on why we withhold from telling the whole truth, especially about our pain and hurts, to our loved ones;

“That’s the trouble with pain. It’s as contagious as a disease. It spreads from the person who first endured it to those who love them most. Truth isn’t always the highest ideal; sometimes it must be sacrificed to stop the spread of pain to those you love. Even children know this intuitively.”¹

The Maid, p.167

Oof. Yes we hide our pain to protect our loved ones, but that’s not all. We do it to hide our shame. To protect ourselves and build a wall around our shattered heart and broken spirit. A wall that says; I will deal with this on my own. Slowly, eventually, that wall encloses our delicate heart and the message we tell ourselves changes from “I’m doing this to protect you,” to “I’m doing this to protect myself.” This can easily be rephrased to “I’m doing this because I can’t/don’t trust you.” 

These steps are small and incremental and do not happen with the same speed as a bricklayer literally places one brick upon another, sealed tight with mortar, before the wall takes shape before us. Maybe you haven’t even noticed it until you cry out in pain and feel alone – questioning who to trust and feeling like there is no one to turn to. Whether or not that’s true, it is the truth you have tried to convince yourself of. This is the problem. This is the problem for me when I allow the narrative of pride and my own strength²  to have greater weight than vulnerability, trust in God and trust in others. 

We might hear the word “pride” and instantly think “arrogance.” Yes, they can go hand in hand, and yet they are not synonymous nor is one a definition of the other. I don’t believe myself to be arrogant, but I am proud. 

Proud that I can be strong. 

I can do it on my own. 

Proud of my contribution.

Do you know what pride doesn’t make a lot of room for?

Grace.

Vulnerability.

Yet to make space for others, to walk alongside them and love them well, we need both. To love ourselves well, we need both. To follow Jesus and let Him lead, we need vulnerability over pride. I need vulnerability over pride. 

Several months ago when meeting together with some wonderful women, who are far wiser than myself, we had a similar discussion around compartmentalisation. My initial thought was, yes! Compartmentalising, that’s my favourite! The conversation that followed was about the negatives of this and how it leads to internalising, insulating and weakens relationships with others. Oof again.

As I walk into this year I am trying my best (read: giving myself grace. In prayer, not on my own strength) to let go of pride and allow vulnerability. But I need the grace of Jesus to do this. And it’s hard, because I am so out of practice.

I will not say the thing that might elicit an “embarrassing” show of emotion.

I will say I’m fine when I’m not. 

I won’t ask for help when I need it.

In each instance I am choosing pride over vulnerability. 

This past weekend I had a conversation with a loved one who was doing his absolute best not to share the truth of a situation, thinking that he was preventing the ‘disease of pain’ from spreading to me. I got quickly frustrated and sharply demanded he “stop deflecting.” His response? “But I’m so good at it.” We got there in the end and I was grateful for his honesty. But during? Not so much and much more frustratingly realized I am. Exactly. The. Same. 

That is, in part, why I decided to revisit writing a blog this year. To create space for reflection, to lean into vulnerability. I am sure, dear reader, you are much wiser than me. I encourage you to give yourself grace, to be a little more trusting and consider the weight you give pride over vulnerability. Maybe check in on your friends, extend grace, be patient and allow space for them to open up as they are ready.

The next time we chat I hope to be a bit braver with my heart, holding it a little more on my sleeve and perhaps not constantly deflecting.

Till then, go well, 

Steph. 

¹ Nita Prose, The Maid (GB: HarperCollins Publishers, 2022), p.167.

² My absolute favourite Bible verse, which I need all the time, 2 Corinthians 12:9: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”