we spend our lives carrying around every raw secret about us in our personal proverbial box. we tuck these boxes neatly under our armpits, and walk with them fully sealed up tidy and safe.
raw friendship happens when we settle into someone enough that we start exposing the inside of the box.
unloading our stories and vulnerabilities and opinions.
pulling it all out.
one-by-one.
putting it on the table.
therapeutically letting light expose shame and darkness and embarrassment and pride.
letting someone in enough to want to push them out. and then inviting them to stay uncomfortably close.
we need to let others in. this is good. this is healthy. this is life-giving. we must necessarily let others into our souls. into our boxes.
i venture to say that this is the worst thing about being single. no one is ceremoniously committed to know the contents of my box. i need people to know. and, selfishly, i need people to care.
i just spent the last month unloading my box. i was with a friend who knows me better than anyone. and our friendship is a wonderful thing.
but, as easy as it was to unload my box with her, she is now six states away again. and i realize that i am still prone to pack it all away again and pretend that i am fine.
don't believe the lie, none of us are fine.
