The Artistry of Being Honest - Part I

There’s a unique artistry in which we each live our lives, a way in which our journey poetically unravels itself. It is rooted in an unchangeable honesty born of every brilliant breath that we are given.

But there are parts of that honest artistry that we each try to hide, to diminish, to silence. We fear it is what will show our weakness, what will define us. Most of all, however, we fear its exposing vulnerability. We hold our breath and fight back tears hoping to keep such honesty that dwells deep within from escaping.

A Restless Truth

I still awaken every morning to an anxious stirring within me. As my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror at the break of each new day I have the same wave of restlessness wash over me. I brace myself against the vanity sink, taking in a thoughtful breath while trying to shake off the uncertainty that threatens to write its way into my mind. I remind myself as I look into my own tired eyes, “this is my life and this is my truth.” I continue on through my morning treatments, cocktail of pills, and getting ready to embrace the awaiting day while repeating that simple, yet honest phrase, “this is my life and this is my truth.”

What is woven within that restlessness? A choice I made almost two years ago to share my honest life, to embrace all that I am. At its very core is an unrelenting restlessness that comes from my life with CF and the decision to openly share it. I think about how that decision has impacted me in both positive and in difficult ways. I think about how that decision has given but also taken parts of my life. In positive ways it is reflected in a powerful support and belief by those people that anything is possible in-spite of CF. It is reflected in an honest freedom. In difficult ways it is reflected in being defined as different, incapable, and only seen for this invisible illness. There are moments within each day that I am reminded about that decision and how it has influenced that given moment in my life. In conversations, opportunities, and relationships that decision stares back at me challenging me to embrace this artistry of being honest and to see its true unique beauty written on every breath.

To Truly Live

At the end of the day as I look at myself in that same mirror I began my morning, I remind myself, “this is my life and this is my truth.” Memories of people I love, conversations that have filled me, and those moments that reflect how beautiful life is remind me of how this honest life and that decision two years ago has given more than it can ever take. I do not doubt that I will wake tomorrow morning with the same wave of restlessness and anxieties, but I know for certain this honest life has allowed me to be rooted in the deepest gratitude and leave nothing unsaid. At the close of every night, I know I’ve lived without regret, loved deeply, and given endless gratitude for every beautiful breath - all because of the artistry of being honest.

Honesty defines each of us differently. It manifests itself within us uniquely and is shared through the artistry that is our beautiful life. Breathe bravely and share your honest life that comes from within you. Is it always easy? No, but the most meaningful artistry resides in vulnerability. Your honest life reflects you – the most beautiful truth. 

This is your life and this is your truth. Embrace its beauty.

This is Part 1 in a several entry series dedicated to sharing my honest life. 

Being Honest

6 months ago I did something that drastically changed my life.  I logged into Breathe Bravely for the very first time and I began writing.  Never did I imagine a few words would transpire into something so incredible.  Never did I imagine how it would change the people I know and love, and my relationship with them.  Never did I imagine how it would change... me.

A Promise

This blog was started because it was time for me to be honest not only with myself, but with the people who unconditionally supported and fought for me at the arms distance I kept them.  It was to come clean and share this life I had so meticulously kept hidden from the world my entire life. Something I had worked so tirelessly to conceal my entire life was becoming nearly impossible to hide.  It was time I share not only a part of my beautiful life, but ALL of my beautiful life.  

I promised myself this blog would reflect my honest life and the beauty of the good, the bad, and the ugly of Cystic Fibrosis.  I found myself the past few days fighting the feeling of wanting to stuff CF and any signs of it deep within myself, away from the world.  Suddenly, I wanted to pretend it wasn't there.  

Why did I hide a huge portion of my life from the world for so long?  Why does a part of me still?  I couldn't stand the thought of the faces of the people I love when telling them less than perfect news.   I still can't.  Most days I can handle the life I have been given, and can see the beauty in every breath I take. What I can't handle is how my life impacts and hurts those I love so dearly.  But, there is no greater gift than telling those I love good news: that their fighting and support make a difference, that I'm breathing better than I have in 4 years, that I'm running, that the possibility of the future seems limitless.   I can see it on their faces: they have hope.  Most of all, I can see my reflection in their future.  The past two months have been one of the greatest gifts of my life.   

Honesty

On Tuesday after several tries, two hours, both arms used, and my body finally cooperating, I had a PICC line placed to begin a course of IV antibiotics.  I think this time has been the hardest when it has come to sharing the news.  Seeing the look of disappointment in not only myself, but in those I love truly kills me inside.  Maybe it's not their looks of disappointment, but the reflection of my own in their faces.  The last person I wanted to tell was Mark.   I felt terrible.  I felt like for the last two months we had real hope.  Hope for a future that seemed like anything was possible.  A future in which CF wasn't going to have any hold on our life.  But that's not my life, and you know what?  That's ok.  I will be grateful for every day, every memory, every relationship, every opportunity, and every breath I am given.   I am thankful for an aggressive team who wants to keep me the healthiest I have been, who care about me, and fight with me every day.  Even if that means IV antibiotics and hitting things before they turn into something really terrible again, I am so truly grateful.  Some days are rougher than others, but all are good and filled with their own beauty.  The future is filled with wondrous possibility and hope, and it's all mine.  Love to you all.

This is honesty. This is my beautiful life.  This is Cystic Fibrosis. 

Is your life an honest reflection of who you really are?

The Birthplace of Joy

[Blog entry created by Jayna Fitzsimmons]

Ashley and I have been friends for a really long time, and we have one of the closest, most enduring friendships I have ever experienced.  We met in high school and became instant best friends—pretty much inseparable, instant sisters.  In case you have doubts, here is a photo from an actual family picture session my family did in 2003. If you can look past the stellar posing, you’ll note the fourth sister.    

 

So foxy.  Take it all in.

I am honored to be guest blogging for AB today, and so I want to take this chance to share a little Friday gratitude for the gift that Ashley’s writing on Breathe Bravely has been to our friendship and how Ashley’s courage in embracing vulnerability has been a gift to all of us.

Ashley and I are both teaching artists.  I teach theatre at Augustana College here in Sioux Falls, and, between USD and her home studio, Ashley teaches music to many students of all ages.  It’s usually not too long into one of our frequent dinner or lunch dates that the “teacher talk” begins.  After a few whisky drinks have been consumed and our husbands have faded into the distance--they’ve become very close J--conversation usually meanders around to our shared passion, and sometimes, the attached frustrations. 

“This student has so much promise,” one of us will say, “but she’s holding back in performance!” 

“The potential is there,” the other will lament, “but he seems afraid to step outside of his comfort zone.”

When our train stops at Commiseration Station, believe me, we swap strategies.

Sorry/not sorry, gentlemen.

In the performing arts, forward progress is tricky in that it can sometimes feel an awful lot like failure.  We have to be vulnerable in order to grow, which can feel scary and unpleasant and like we need to find the nearest tub of ice cream/bottle of wine, stat. It’s gunning for that high note with no guarantee it will be reached, committing to a new audition monologue that might fall flat, or “looking stupid” in front of one’s classmates, peers, or an entire audience.  Ashley and I (and every other teacher on the planet, no doubt) toss around questions like: How do we encourage our students to try new things? To take risks with their work? To embrace the idea of productive failure? To willingly make themselves vulnerable in the face of criticism, rejection, or the threat of anything less than an A+?  How can we best teach this concept when we’re still learning it ourselves—and probably always will be?

In looking for a way to talk to my students about how vulnerability can actually be useful, I came across Brene Brown’s work.  Maybe you’re familiar with Brene Brown, a social worker and author who researches and writes about vulnerability.  If you have a spare twenty minutes, check out her engaging TED talk, “The Power of Vulnerability.”  For now, here’s the highlight reel: Brown says that vulnerability—in addition to being necessary for the human connection we all need to live purposeful lives—is “the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love.”  I don’t know about you, but I think that’s such an empowering message: something we’re taught to see as weakness actually gives us strength and the ability to more fully connect with ourselves and others.  According to Brown, vulnerability comes with allowing ourselves to be seen, deeply seen, for who we are and is possible only when we have the courage to embrace imperfection, express gratitude, and believe that what makes us vulnerable is what makes us beautiful.  Sound familiar?

Hint:

Oh, and in case that last question had you stumped, Brown defines courage as the willingness “to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.”  Sound like anyone we know? 

Bonus hint:

Ashley and I shared so much growing up together, but despite our sisterly status, we rarely shared in the ups and downs of CF. I knew the basics of what it was and that she had it, but that was about it.  Ashley did an excellent job of hiding anything that might make people think she was imperfect, and even as her best friend, I would have had to adopt detective-level observation skills to see any evidence of CF’s presence. The deftly hidden PICC line on a band trip and concealed pill bottles during sleepovers were overshadowed by all of the awesome times we had together, and I was very familiar with the way Ashley would gracefully sidestep any mention of CF with practiced ease.  I understand her reasons, but it kills me now to think of how hard it must have been for CF to be a secret in Ashley’s life.  What if I had stepped outside of my comfort zone to ask questions or offer support back then? Or even a year ago? What was I afraid of?

Ashley’s blog profoundly changed our entire friendship, so much so that, in my mind, I’ve started to divide our time as friends into “Before Breathe Bravely” and “After Breathe Bravely.”  Though it’s been a shorter time, our friendship “ABB” has been so rich, it feels like years.  Ashley’s willingness to be vulnerable to her entire audience of readers unlocked an entirely new understanding of my dearest friend and brought a new depth of connection to our relationship.  It gave me a vocabulary to ask questions.  It gave me permission to get involved.  It was a key under a welcome mat.  Maybe you feel that way, too.

Two weeks ago, Ashley and I took a break from talking about teaching and raised our whiskey drinks in a toast to her 55% lung function.  A year ago, I might not have even known about that success, and now, because of Ashley’s courage, I get to celebrate it!  Thank you, Ashley!  You show us that opening up to be fully seen by others makes for a purposeful life—and you are living it.  Through every challenge and victory, what a gift it is to truly see my best friend!

What rewards could you reap by stepping outside of your comfort zone?  Try something new today.  Thank someone who has changed your life.  And, this one’s really important: call your best friend.