When I finished college, I had to say goodbye to my good friend, Allison. I was staying in the town where we attended school and she was moving to her first Army duty station in Texas. The day she left, I went by her place to see her off, and I cried. I didn’t want to cry. I did everything in my power to try to physically stop it from happening, but the tightness in my throat finally gave way to sobs. After the initial knee jerk humiliation of crying in front of another person, I saw how my emotion affected my friend. She was deeply touched and she knew in that moment how much I cared for her, in a way that I could not have told her with words alone.
Over the last couple years, I have often shared this story with clients to illustrate that vulnerability and authenticity can be a gift to the people around us. I could have remained composed, told Allison I would really miss her, and it still would’ve been a nice moment. In fact, I would have been a lot more comfortable with that, but it wouldn’t have meant the same to her. She would have known that I cared for her and enjoyed our time living near each other, but she wouldn’t have known about my grief about her leaving. I don’t know if I would’ve known about it either, to be honest. I think my grief actually deepened our friendship that day and we are still very close, ten years later and many more miles apart.
Fast forward to a couple months ago. Allison came to visit me. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, and she interrupted time with her family to spend a day with me. It went way too fast, and it was chaotic. My children were not behaving supernaturally well, like I had hoped. When I drove Allison to her hotel to catch an early flight, I could feel that grief bubbling up again. And again, I tried my very best to suppress it. I clenched my throat around it and tried to deny that it was there. I didn’t let it out on the entire 90 minute car ride to the hotel. I made jokes. I pretended I was fine. I fully intended to hold it in until I was alone in the car on the way home, but just as I was about to leave, I made a different choice. I let my throat loosen. I put down my emotional armor. I let my tears come. And then hers came. And then we both cried and acknowledged the sadness we felt about the distance between us and the brevity of the visit. I was relieved to know she felt it too. What a gift!
My authentic expression of emotion can be a priceless gift to the people around me and theirs is a gift to me. I know this. I have experienced it and I have taught it. It is still hard for me, even with the closest people to me. It’s okay if it is hard for you, too. In my history and in yours, there are good reasons for the difficulty. And yet, what a worthy endeavor to find safe spaces to practice authenticity.
I am so grateful that in my role at Restore, I get to provide that safe space. I get to experience and hear about how people feel and know rich depth in relationships when they bravely show up authentically. I am moved by each story, and my courage and resolve deepens to wear my armor a little bit less.
By Kate Boltz, Restorative Mentor