Conscious Content

In my body what happened was at first, shock.

Which feels like being frozen by the White Witch of Narnia for a spell.

Followed by a sinking-sick stomach, like I’d been punched there or fallen backwards off a high, cut bank of cliffs overlooking the Meramec River where I grew up in the Ozark highlands.

Unsafe.

That tricky feeling that makes your heart audibly BA-DOOM in and out of your chest when you are led to believe you’re in a safe space that turns out to be a lie.

Then, protective.

Of the mother who’d shared a community post in an effort to inform other families and their children. And of the 2 fathers, who had also protected 4 other children by quickly and calmly handling the situation with the perpetrator and then communicating to all the parents impacted on next steps, including me.

Shamed. Blamed. Misunderstood.

Defensive. Then full-on Kali-level, snake-haired Medusa rage.

Which brings me here today.

I needed to unbury an ancient question at the core of who we are and our human experience here (with you).

Join Part 1 of my 5-Part series on the social costs of truth-telling. Linked in bio.

Saying the right thing still feeling wrong? It's not you, my dear one.

It's the system.

It has looong valued the comfort of few over the truth of many.

Because belonging is a hell of a drug. (that doesn't need to be sold to you.)

And telling the truth has always come with a social cost, a nervous system cost. (this is how it's pushed.)

Especially for women.
Especially for mothers.
For our children.
For anyone taught that being loved meant staying digestible.

But silence has a cost, too.

Abandoning yourself costs you too.

And you're paying double everyday.

I'm writing about this right now.
Part 1 of a 5-part series on the social cost of telling the truth.

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