Of bluntness and misunderstandings

Once again I'm tossing and turning in my bed and I can't seem to sleep.  And here I am at my keyboard desperate to get the hurt and frustration out.  I find solace in writing.  I can express myself and be real and people don't have to agree, but I can have a valid opinion because I'm just writing.  I usually don't have a argument or real huge point to get across.  My writing is usually just a jumble of my heart put into words.   

The cycle of how I am perceived continues.  My whole life I have been the person who speaks too bluntly and then hurts people's feelings and then I have to humble myself and work through how I was experienced by the other person.  Sometimes it ends well.  Sometimes not so well.

When I was a little girl, I was asked to leave a home school group because I was just too blunt.  In another home school group, instead of working out the problems, a family left because of me.  My best friends in 5th grade ganged up on me during a school carnival to tell me how much they didn't like me and how I needed to act different-- that was the last time I spent any time with those girls.  In 7th grade my new best friend and I had a falling out because I was too aggressive-- I vividly remember sitting in my bedroom and talking it through with both of our moms.  It was the first time I was able to work through a real difficult situation rather than just separate from whoever was having difficulty with me.  (She is still my closest sister friend; the lifelong person who I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, has my back.)  In the early years of marriage, when I was working in youth ministry, two leaders invited me to have coffee and then picked me apart for my passion that was perceived as aggression -- so much so that I fled from the house sobbing and never worked with youth again.  Those stories are just a few, I have had people misunderstand my motives my whole life.

The catch to all this is, so often people will say to me that they are so refreshed at my truth, my ability to not hold back, my honesty.  The same people that have complimented me, have turned around and told me how I am too blunt, brash, hurtful, not caring, don't have a heart...  you get the picture.

The thing is, I'm in process.  As a little girl, I sure wish the other parent's would have used those moments to help me grow.  As a 5th grader, I wish the girls would have been nicer and asked for help to work through our issues.  As a young adult, I wish the other leaders would have seen my heart and not attacked me.  As a woman, I wish conflict would be handled thinking the highest and best of me-- to know that I love deeply and have grown so much-- to remember that I have wisdom and I am not shooting my mouth off.

I also know I'm a judger, I don't have a load of grace for myself or for you, and I don't always say things at the best of moments.  And yet, I am miles ahead of where I was when I was younger.  Nate's death brought about so much good in my life-- I love deeper, see the value in people, I do have compassion (believe it or not, but my compassion was about at 1% before Nate died) for other people's life experiences, and to know that just because I feel so strongly about something doesn't make me right; it just makes me have strong feelings.  I do recognize when I am wrong and take accountability for it-- I apologize just in case I've hurt you, your dog, your sister, your husband.  I humble myself and take the hit and usually I don't get a thank you or an apology back and usually that's ok.  More than anything, I love Jesus.  I filter almost everything I do through my relationship with Jesus.  Do I always, no.  Sometimes, it is after I have said or done something, and yet, I still have a heart to grow and to change and to learn.

This boldness I carry sucks.  I wish I could just sit back and watch the world and not say a word.  I wish I was just always warm and friendly and could stay a surface friend-- at least right now I wish it, because it really hurts to feel deeply and be hurt-- it goes that much deeper.  I wish that even though I am bold, people understood that my feelings matter too.  I get hurt.  I spend days crying when there is a crack in a friendship.  I carry the emotions on my face, my heart, my hands.

Edit: I have had reconciliation with the two youth worker ladies I mentioned-- it took a few years, but we have had an understanding of hearts and we love each other. 

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