This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
-- Polonius, in Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act I Scene III
Behold, You desire truth in the innermost being,
And in the hidden part You will make me know wisdom.
-- King David, Psalm 51:6 (NASB)
One of the things I've been learning in the last couple of years has been the concept of honesty. In the past, I've been accused of being "too honest" with people, to my own detriment, so I never thought that I had a problem with being honest. But the honesty that I mean is not the kind that makes you not cheat on a test or not tell someone a falsehood. No, this is the kind of honesty that is brave enough to look where few dare: inside.
When I started my own healing process, one of the first things with which I was confronted was this concept of honesty with the self. I was very much afraid to delve too far into this idea, but more and more I became convinced that as far back as I could remember, I had been lied to, I had lied to myself, and I continued to lie to myself and sell myself short on so many things, based on lies I had been told ... and believed ... all my life. These things were told to me by my family members, the members of my church, my classmates, even radio and TV.
The lies were insidious and they sunk down past what I did into who I was. The statement, "That was a dumb thing to do" became quickly translated by my psyche into, "I'm dumb." When I heard, "That's the wrong way to do that," my belief system incorporated the message, "I can never do anything right" into its framework. And on and on the list went. Everyday occurrences, little off-handed statements, were the bricks and mortar of my wall of self-told lies.
When I started to expose these lies, they squirmed; they hated the light. Then when I turned up the light by telling the truth - over and over again - they protested loudly. At first. After several weeks and months of drumming messages of encouragement and life into those dark places, the accusing voices weren't quite as loud. The wounded child that was inside of me started to think that the things she believed and was told were not true and that there was a better way to live, that she was worth something just the way she was. There were setbacks of course, but overall, things started to turn around on the inside.
That was the beginning of miracles, the sunrise on a new day. I can't explain how it started to change things for me, but I do know that it did. I slowly grew in self-confidence, and over time realized my opinion mattered, that I could say what I thought and felt without fear of reprisals. It's still a work in progress, but it's happening in increasing measure and frequency, the more honest I am with myself.
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
-- Polonius, in Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act I Scene III
Behold, You desire truth in the innermost being,
And in the hidden part You will make me know wisdom.
-- King David, Psalm 51:6 (NASB)
One of the things I've been learning in the last couple of years has been the concept of honesty. In the past, I've been accused of being "too honest" with people, to my own detriment, so I never thought that I had a problem with being honest. But the honesty that I mean is not the kind that makes you not cheat on a test or not tell someone a falsehood. No, this is the kind of honesty that is brave enough to look where few dare: inside.
The lies were insidious and they sunk down past what I did into who I was. The statement, "That was a dumb thing to do" became quickly translated by my psyche into, "I'm dumb." When I heard, "That's the wrong way to do that," my belief system incorporated the message, "I can never do anything right" into its framework. And on and on the list went. Everyday occurrences, little off-handed statements, were the bricks and mortar of my wall of self-told lies.
When I started to expose these lies, they squirmed; they hated the light. Then when I turned up the light by telling the truth - over and over again - they protested loudly. At first. After several weeks and months of drumming messages of encouragement and life into those dark places, the accusing voices weren't quite as loud. The wounded child that was inside of me started to think that the things she believed and was told were not true and that there was a better way to live, that she was worth something just the way she was. There were setbacks of course, but overall, things started to turn around on the inside.
That was the beginning of miracles, the sunrise on a new day. I can't explain how it started to change things for me, but I do know that it did. I slowly grew in self-confidence, and over time realized my opinion mattered, that I could say what I thought and felt without fear of reprisals. It's still a work in progress, but it's happening in increasing measure and frequency, the more honest I am with myself.
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