All the Real Hearts in the World Still Beat

I often write to remind myself of certain truths, truths that ring clearly in my heart, though they may not resonate with others. This is one such writing. Maybe it will move you, and maybe it won’t. Maybe you don’t want to be moved today, and that’s 100% okay. But these are the words I have right now, so I’m going to say them.

It’s strange to me that we don’t just say how we feel.

When I was just beginning my pre-professional ballet career, the words “How are you?” were thrown around like confetti. By me. By my friends and teachers. We saw each other every day; we knew when something was off. We had that kind of heart connection. But my go-to response was, “I’m good. How are you?” And, since we’re being transparent, that’s the answer I expected from everyone else.

Why are we so conditioned to be “good” all the time?

I didn’t ask myself that until after my grandmother passed away. My ballet class was taking prayer requests, and mine was for my grandfather, who was now living alone. “Are you okay?” my teacher asked. And I actually said yes. Right before I felt tears on my cheeks because under no circumstances was I okay. I didn’t want to be okay. My heart hurt. For once in my life, I wanted to be allowed to feel truly terrible, and I didn’t want to be judged for it.

And then I realized something very important.

My friends weren’t responsible for “allowing” me to be sad and to cry.

Only I could do that.

So I cried. I grabbed a tissue box while my friends gathered around for a group hug, and even though I’m borderline claustrophobic, I stood there gratefully and cried some more.

After that, I didn’t say, “I’m good.” Not unless I actually was good. I told my friends that I was sore, or tired or whatever it was that day. I wasn’t always “bad.” Rarely, in fact. But I was finally able to stop lying to myself when things weren’t perfect, and somehow, that made me feel better, even on the not-as-good days.

It’s not easy to be honest in this way. We feel more impressive, more stable when we tell people we’re fine. But sometimes we’re just not. Life happens. The alarm doesn’t go off, and the car won’t start, and we forget to eat lunch, and the phone battery dies three times a day, and we lose people. And it sucks. But rather than taking the time and energy to pick ourselves up, we exhaust ourselves with words like, “I’m fine” and “I can do it myself.” We know we’re not there yet, and we lie anyway.

Wouldn’t it be more freeing to just… say how we feel?

I know it’s easier said than done. But all the real hearts–the ones that tell it like it is–in the world? They’re still beating. A little faster than most, maybe, but beating, nonetheless.

If you’re hurting, tell them. If you’re afraid, tell them. If you love them, tell them.

They’re just as conditioned as we are to think that everyone is “fine.”

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash