Burning the Green Curtain

This. *This* is why I bare my heart, soul, challenges, and failures with basically everyone I know on the internet. I am here to embrace it *all*— messy, broken, whole, perfectly imperfect.

Do you want to know some more secrets? I am so incredible insecure, hard on myself, perfectionistic, and terrified of letting other people down. I care waaaaay more than I know I should about what other people think of me, their perceptions of who I am and what I bring to the world. I have always looked too hard for external validation— am I doing it “right”? Second guessing myself. Dwelling on the past and what I could have done differently.

None of this makes me “special”, or any different than most. My experience is not unique. I, like everyone, have always, and will continue to fight my own demons, and to try to learn to embrace the dark and scary places inside my wounded heart. Isn’t that one of the core things about the human experience, and our individual spiritual journeys? Healing our innermost wounds. Finding the way back to our own perfect spirit. Continuing, always, to grow. To stumble, and get back up. To develop true compassion not just for the world around us, but for our own selves.

I used to keep my struggles mostly private. I tried to maintain my “professionalism”, the perception that I had it “all together”, be taken seriously as a doctor, and earn the respect and admiration of everyone around me. Though I’ve never come close to the ideal version of myself or my life, really. I’ve been falling and flailing and failing all together at so many things in so many ways. My world has been chaotic and filled with turmoil of one sort or another for far too long— some of it is bad luck or just the way life goes, but much more than I care to admit has been of my own doing.  

While trying to maintain the illusion of “success” in the conventional sense of the world, I felt like an imposter. If only they knew what a hot mess my life was behind the “green curtain”, all my weaknesses, fears, doubts, and all the ways in which I wasn’t the wife/mother/daughter/friend/doctor/HUMAN that I wanted to be. 

I didn’t dye my hair in wild colors or pierce my nose. I tried to fit the mold, do what was expected. Act the way I thought I was “supposed” to act. You know, all that “good girl” shit and societal expections we grew up with. 

But through the years, that all began to change. I got a couple tattoos. I went ahead and pierced my nose anyway. I stopped buying the uncomfortable, “grown up” work clothes I thought that doctors should wear. I started wearing yoga pants and walking barefoot through the office— though still, I was trying to keep up appearances, the illusion that I was living my best life. 

And then one day, a mama came in to my office in tears, in the thick of parenting a toddler and a newborn, not sleeping, constantly feeling like she was failing, struggling in her marriage, and on basically every other level. Honestly, I don’t even remember now who it was, but I will never forget the conversation we had. 

“How do you DO IT?” she asked me. “How do you run a business and take care of other people all day, and then go home and parent your own young kids, and have a happy marriage, and… just, *everything*? I can hardly brush my own teeth and it’s all I can do to get food on table.” And it all hit me like an apple falling on my head. *I* was part of the problem. 

The universal problem that (at least I believe) we all face, at least at some point in our lives: That we are alone in our pain. That other people somehow have the secret to a successful, healthy, happy life— and that somehow, we will never be enough.

“Oh honey,” I began. “Is that what you really think??? Because I can assure you that you only see the best of me in here— outside of the office, I am barely keeping my head above water…” and proceeded to open up with just a few examples of how it was all smoke and mirrors. 

I don’t know about you, but I grew up with a certain amount of the “keeping up with the Jones’” mentality that used to be so prevalent. Trying to have a perfectly clean house for the visitors. Never airing our “dirty laundry”. I imagine my parents would be horrified if they knew how much I put out there these days. And I have to admit, the fact that they are no longer with us in this physical world is probably a big part of the reason that I feel able to do it. Because *they* were always the ones I feared disappointing the most. 

But things have changed since those days. We are living in an unprecedented age of soul-baring memoir and being given not just permission, but actual encouragement to show up in all our raw, vulnerable, and authentic glory. The work of Brene Brown, and so many others, has taught us about how many gifts can be found in embracing our shame and our imperfections, our whole selves. We are learning to connect with each other on a deeper level. And for me, that is where the magic happens. 

So this is the path I have chosen. I reveal so much of myself partially to be seen, witnessed, supported, validated, and loved “anyway”— and I have found *incredible* healing in that. But the bigger reason is that I hope to spread that awareness, that permission and encouragement for others to reach out, talk about what’s real, ask for what they need, and love themselves and each other despite our shortcomings. 

Even as I write this, I realize the irony. It’s an sincere explanation of where I am in my journey, and I feel compelled to share it in hopes that it will help contribute to this radical authenticity culture that has been so profoundly healing for me. I am attempting to model awareness and compassion for each other and ourselves, to let others know that they aren’t alone… And yet…

At the same time, I know that another big part of the motivation is my imagined need to justify it to all those people who are shocked by what I post online. It’s a response to the story in my head that they believe it’s so wrong, that my parents, my kids, or my extended family might feel ashamed of me somehow…

And I *do* still care more than I should what everyone thinks of me. But I’m gonna keep doing it anyway, without regret, or apology. This is me.

And, I love YOU, in all your *already perfect* glory. I hope you can embrace it all, let your light shine, and also make room for the darkness and be able to share it with others and know that you are now, always have been, and always will be *enough*.