honesty Archives - RonnaDetrick.com

Everything You Need

May 18, 2023 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

In the midst of life’s ups and down, I am grateful for that which is steady, familiar, and comfortable.

I haven’t always seen things this way.

Too often, I’ve resisted the “ordinariness” of my life. I’ve fallen prey to the myth that I should be better and more. I’ve been exhausted by endlessly waiting for something, anything, everything to change. I’ve searched and searched outside myself for a fix, for respite, for “salvation,” so to speak.

I still do sometimes. Thankfully, less and less.

These days, “ordinary” feels like respite. Better and more feel like lies (because they are). I rarely wait or hope or pine for change. And bit by bit I am learning to look within and somewhat-miraculously discover everything I need.

Even this is comforting: these slow-but-sure shifts.

“Comfort is so much more than bubble baths and chocolate. Not that both aren’t fabulous, but the popular conception of comfort is often about numbing out or escaping, not about truly finding a way to face into things honestly and authentically.” ~ Jen Louden

Amen.

True, deep comfort is found when we face things honestly and authentically, when we ARE our honest and authentic selves. The opposite is also true: when we are NOT our honest and authentic selves, (deep) comfort is impossible to find.

I came across a different expression of this truth in a book I read this past week (and highly recommend): Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May.

She says, “We ‘want’ in the archaic sense of the word, as if we are lacking something and need to absorb it in order to be whole again. These wants are often astonishingly inaccurate: drugs and alcohol, which poison instead of reintegrate; relationships with people who do not make us feel safe or loved; objects that we do not need, cannot afford, which hang around our necks like albatrosses of debt long after the yearning for them has passed. Underneath this chaos and clutter lies a longing for more elemental things—love, beauty, comfort . . . “

“Chaos and clutter” come when we look outside ourselves for wholeness; when we forget that WE are what we need. Said another way: WE are the font from which deep comfort flows.

Quite frankly, even knowing what I know now, it is still a struggle to trust all that dwells within me, to receive the deep comfort that is and always has been mine. I want nothing more. And I am certain that every bit of this—this learning to turn within—is a process, a journey, a heroine’s quest, an endless discovery, the gift of life itself.

“A woman discovers the way home to herself in a quiet descent into the richness of her own life. In the descent, she reverses the tendency to look outside of herself for salvation. In the “deep places,” she reunites with her essential self and reclaims her natural resources.” ~ Patricia Lynn Reilly

THIS is comfort, yes?

A woman who knows to live in ways that are not dependent on external circumstances, other people, better and more, success or not.

A woman who knows to dive deep below the surface to find respite and calm; to be and remain whole.

A woman who knows she can quiet the clamor and din, discern among pressures and demands, by listening to her heart.

A woman who knows that being her honest and authentic self is her birthright – whether or not that creates dis-comfort for others.

A woman who knows joy is to be found in the ordinary, in the rhythms and routines that provide both structure and support.

A woman who knows she has more to express, more to reveal, more to offer, more to give; who nurtures all that she carries within; who cannot help but birth ever more of her true-and-beautiful self into the world.

We’re invited to all of this and then some. We’re invited home . . . to ourselves . . . at last. Comfort, to be sure.

May it be so.

It’s a relief to tell the truth.

May 11, 2023 | Sovereignty, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

“It’s a relief to speak the truth. I don’t have to pretend.” ~ Karen Maezen Miller

My thoughts about truth-telling are supported by two bookends. One the one side is my deep and inviolate belief that you already know your truth. It’s that know-that-you-know-that-you-know voice within that cannot and will not be silenced; it never leaves you. On the other side is the acknowledgement that your truth-telling often comes with risk, cost, and consequence – which is the very reason you, me, most women, often forego it, tone it down, keep ourselves safe, all of the above.

What’s missing though, is what Karen Maezen Miller (above) offers in naming truth-telling as relief.

Without rest as promised-reward, truth-telling often remains too daunting and not worth either the effort or the exhaustion. Pretending then, becomes our default.

About pretending.
We are conditioned to pretend from a very early age. We learn how to be what others expect, what others need, what others demand. And confusingly, our ability to do and be exactly this, is what earns us affirmation, praise, and belonging. (No wonder we’re exhausted.)

“In the fullness of time, we become dizzy from swirling; our lives ache from being twisted out of shape; and our spirits become depleted from servicing others with our energy and attention.” ~ Patricia Lynn Reilly, A Deeper Wisdom: The 12 Steps from a Woman’s Perspective

To tell the truth, to NOT pretend, feels far more like labor than rest, far more like risk than reward because pretending is what we’re used to, what we know best, what we become best at. But to keep pretending, even though potentially “easier” (deceivingly so), chips away at our true self, our wholeness, our groundedness, our very experience of who we are as a woman in this world.

In thinking a lot about this in the past few days, I decided to compile a cursory inventory of my own pretending:

I learned early that being smart, witty, and a “thinker” would get me the most attention from my dad. I wasn’t pretending to be smart, witty, and a thinker but I DID know, somewhere within, that it was required to feel loved. Being who he wanted and needed me to be allowed me to feel seen, heard, and valued.
As a teenager and through my 20s, I pretended in ways designed to summon male approval. It didn’t work a lot of the time, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t committed to trying. If I pretended to be what they wanted, surely I would be wanted.
During five years of infertility, I pretended to trust in God’s will by (trying to) believe in some higher plan for my life. The truth—what I really felt—was too dark, too hopeless, too devoid of the faith I had learned to display, no matter what.
During way too much of my marriage, I pretended that I was OK with what was happening around and within me. The truth would be too disruptive, misunderstood, the beginning of the end. Pretending felt like self-preservation, relationship-preservation.
In a later relationship, post-divorce, I pretended to be fine with his distance, his cutting sarcasm, his utter disappearance emotionally. Pretending meant I didn’t have to be alone.
In more than one corporate position, I pretended that feeling like I was the crazy one was normal; that it was “just the way things are” as a woman in leadership. Pretending meant that I could stay, that I had a seat at the table, that I belonged.

Now I know better.

The truth is that I am worthy of being seen, heard, and valued because of who I am – not because of what I do or how I act, even how smart I might sound.
The truth is that I am worthy of being wanted, period.
The truth is that the heartache of infertility was hardly a divestiture of my faith, but a fierce (and faithful) clinging to any faith at all.
The truth is that my marriage was pretend as long as I was pretending; what I was working so hard to preserve was not honest or real.
The truth is that being in relationship with someone who couldn’t stay, couldn’t express emotion, and wouldn’t honor me is not worth being in at all.
The truth is that I am not the crazy one; my seat at the table is deserved – even if not given or allowed.

The truth is that typing every one of the sentences above IS a relief, even now. Though some were a long time in coming, each were a relief then, as well.

“It is a relief to speak the truth. I don’t have to pretend.”

Where have you felt the exhaustion of being someone other than yourself? What stories come to mind? What “inventory of pretending” might you compile? What blessed relief might you know if you did speak the truth, your truth?

These are not easy questions. Answering them with intentional choice and bold action IS risky, costly, and full of consequence. But so is pretending.

You deserve to be yourself. You deserve to experience every moment of every day fully and completely yourself no matter what. You deserve to speak your truth. You deserve to never pretend at all. You deserve to know that who you are is beautiful, worthy, and wise no matter what. And that IS a relief.

About South Stars

Feb 10, 2023 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I was talking with a client a few weeks back who can honestly and confidently state that she is strong and powerful and capable and competent. She’s 100% right about this!

Still, she is dealing with some things that have her feeling weak and wobbly and incapable and incompetent. She knows better AND she feels what she feels. It’s a conundrum, a paradox, a truth, a lie. And much like me, this has her spiraling a bit, feeling bad, berating herself, acknowledging her own ridiculous shame spiral.

I could attempt to talk her out of what she’s feeling. I could tell her what we’ve all heard a gazillion times: talk to yourself like you would someone you love. I could encourage her to see that she’s being overly critical, that self-compassion is deserved. (And of course, I could do all of this with and for myself, as well.)

Here’s the thing:

Our doubts and insecurities, our wounds and seen-patterns, even the negative thoughts that are completely contradictory to who we KNOW ourselves to be, are very, VERY good news! They point us to what matters, to what we care about most, to what we know-that-we-know-that-we-know.

IT’S OUR VERY FRUSTRATION THAT SERVES AS A COMPASS, A FORM OF DISCERNMENT, A MARKER OF TRUTH.

When my client tells me she feels weak and wobbly and incapable and incompetent, these very pains and irritants serve as irrefutable evidence of what matters to her, what she cares about most, and what she most definitely knows is true about her.

It’s uncomfortable to feel and name the contradiction, but it serves as a generous reminder of what is more true.

If we don’t allow for the fact that we feel heartbroken and hopeless, we won’t see that compassion and hope are, in fact, qualities and characteristics that we hold dear and do, in fact, have…in spades.
If we don’t allow for the fact that we feel lonely, we won’t recognize just how much we value relationship…and that we are more-than worthy of such, no compromising or compliance allowed.
If we don’t allow for the fact that we care about how we are perceived by our co-workers, our boss, our kids, our significant other, then we won’t see (sometimes with excruciating clarity) that we must speak our mind, stand up for ourselves, and unswervingly value all that we offer and bring.

Our most uncomfortable feelings are often profound gift and grace.

*****

I once heard someone explain the idea of a “south star.”

We know what a north star is: a concept, belief, or inherent truth by which we set our course, that keeps us focused, that points us in the right direction. A south star is just as powerful. It shows us where NOT to go and what is NOT true.

What are your south stars?
Think about some recent situation in which your internal response was almost immediate self-contempt or irritation.
Write out what you felt, the self-talk that poured forth.
Now, for each of those things you just wrote down, name their exact opposite. An example: I am so lazy. It’s opposite: Intentional. Contributing. Present.
So, “lazy” is the south star that points you toward and reminds you that, in fact, what matters to you is being intentional, making a contribution, being fully present. And I’d be willing to bet that you already ARE all these things!

Worth stating again:

Our doubts and insecurities, our wounds and seen-patterns, even the negative thoughts that are completely contradictory to who we KNOW ourselves to be, are actually very, VERY good news!

They point us to what matters, to what we care about most, to what we know-that-we-know-that-we-know.

*****

As my client talked to me about feeling the opposite of who she knows herself to be, she was able to use those emotions to name the exact conditions that often lead her down that path. She could see how those circumstances a) almost always bring about the same result, and b) are actually possible to avoid and eliminate. Honestly naming what she felt (her south star), even though hard, guided her back to remembering who she truly is.

I hope the same for you!

As caveat, let me say that not every painful or frustrating emotion can be *simply* converted into a south star that leaves us feeling better about ourselves. I do not mean to paint some kind of patina over the hard and excruciating things that happen in our lives. And believe me, though I am a profoundly hopeful person, I am not one who looks for the bright side or seeks out silver linings.

I am, however, a woman who believes deeply in the wisdom inherent in every emotion we have — admitted, expressed, or held tenderly within. Sometimes they are south stars. And sometimes they are veritable craters into which we fall. Either way (and everything in between), I am committed to allowing them in myself and others, to giving them ample and generous spaciousness and grace, to trusting that they will not overwhelm, but will, eventually and at last, walk us home to ourselves.

May it be so.

*****

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Telling Your Truth (and being a volcano)

Apr 1, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power

I find it fascinating (and frustrating) that as children we are taught lying is definitely not OK. Ironically, as young girls-then women, we are taught to not tell our truth — at least not fully. Not if it’s something others don’t want to hear, or if it even remotely upsets someone else’s world. So apparently we shouldn’t lie but we also shouldn’t tell the truth. This tangle is what I’m diving into today; inspired, in large part, by my all-time favorite quote:

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.
~ Muriel Rukeyser

And this one:

We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains. That’s what I want — to hear you erupting.
~ Ursula K. LeGuin

Why telling your truth often feels like a destructive volcano.

When I first heard the Muriel Rukeyser quote above (What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.) I said, “Exactly! That’s why I can’t do it!” I was certain that were I to name what I was experiencing, how I was feeling, what I actually thought, that everything would fall apart around me.

I’m hardly alone in this (though I felt like I was at the time). As women, we have been culturally conditioned to

“be seen and not heard,”
keep our opinions to ourselves,
not upset the apple cart ever,
distrust our own voice,
make sure that everyone else’s comfort supersedes our own; and if all this weren’t enough,
believe we’re probably making a big deal out of nothing.

In her must-read book, Cassandra Speaks, Elizabeth Lesser says this:

…we know the truth of our own experiences, yet we are told we are lying or overreacting; we can see consequences on the horizon, but it’s still “common knowledge” that women’s emotions cloud their vision, that we tend toward hysteria — even madness — and therefore are not to be believed.

See? It’s hard to tell the truth because we’re convinced (and have been taught to believe) that we will, indeed, split the world open. Best to keep it in, hold it back, play it safe. I did this for a very long time — especially in the context of my marriage, but in an infinite number of other places and ways, as well, believe me.

I eventually realized that everything needed to fall apart! Splitting my world open was the only thing that would allow me to breathe, live with any level of personal integrity, and ever hope to grow. But seeing, naming, and knowing this hardly made it any easier!

The fact that it’s hard to trust, tell, and live your truth isn’t your fault. You’re not to blame. You’re not weak. It’s not a reflection of some lack of fortitude or courage or strength. You may feel this way, but here’s what is actually true: you’ve been enculturated to feel that way! It’s what the world (patriarchy, specifically) WANTS you to believe so that you don’t make waves or split worlds open or be a volcano; so that you keep your truth to yourself.

Our work as women is to name this reality and then undo it; to see the ways in which we are silenced NOT as character flaws but as learned behaviors in a world that wants us quiet, compliant, and endlessly serving others’ needs before and instead of our own.

When you tell and live your truth you are disrupting the status quo. That IS the world splitting open, the maps changing, the new mountains being made, the volcanoes erupting. Yes, please!!!

It is understandable, even to be expected — your fear of what might happen when/if you tell your truth. Still and always, it deserves to be spoken and lived — no matter what, all the time, endlessly, and in every single context and conversation possible. You cannot convince me otherwise.

You also cannot convince me that there is some magic formula or “easy” 3-step plan through which you can tell yourself and others the truth and come out of it without some kind of unearthing or overturning along the way. In fact, I’d go so far as to say this:

Knowing/anticipating the “havoc” that will potentially result when you DO tell your truth is all the data you need to know this is EXACTLY what is required for you to be fully yourself and fully sovereign.

What you fear serves you. It’s a powerful form of discernment. It’s the evidence that you can trust yourself and your truth enough to speak and live it.

No, no magic formula or 3-step plan, but 3 practical-practices to help you in a process that will, undoubtedly, last a lifetime . . .

1) Inventory the lies.

List out all the messages you’ve internalized; the ones that reinforce the belief you’re better off keeping your thoughts (and your truth) to yourself — from childhood, adulthood, education, religion, social media, TV, movies, magazines, novels, bosses, boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, significant others, etc. Sayings. Cliches. Repeated phrases. Lessons-learned. Even the voices in your head.
Take a red pen, fat black Sharpie, or Shift+Command+X (on a Mac) and cross out every one that is NOT actually true, relevant, helpful, supportive, or remotely applicable now that you are older, wiser, and the amazing-and-empowered woman that you are!
Journal: What shows up for you when you walk through this exercise — elation, resistance, frustration, doubt? What do you feel when you realize just how much of not telling the truth has come from the assertions and demands of others and your culture? What if your experiences of keeping your truth to yourself aren’t your fault? How then might you respond?

2) Tell yourself ONE truth.

What is the truth that’s sitting closest to the surface for you right now? You know the one. You know it needs to be acted on, spoken, lived. Yep, that one.
Write it out. Type it out. Give yourself space, time, and permission to say EXACTLY what you already know. You don’t have to act on it (yet). Just write and write and write. Let yourself feel what it’s like to express this truth in unedited and uncensored ways. No keeping it in, holding it back, or playing it safe.
Telling the truth (*only* to yourself) is not insignificant or inconsequential. It’s everything.

3) Take the tiniest steps.

Often what keeps us from acting on our truth is the very long and legitimate list of risks, costs, and consequences we’re certain will ensue. You might be right. And if you are, as I stated above, that’s reliable data and discernment. But for now, all I’m advocating is one small, almost invisible act that aligns your internal and external truths; that closes the gap.
Give an opinion. State a definitive “yes” or “no.” Answer a question without side-stepping the voice in your head. Just one truth. Spoken out loud. Acted on. Every day. That’s it. (And then watch what happens over time. It’s like compounding interest, I promise!)

An encouraging thought:

After I got past my initial reaction to the Rukeyser quote about the world splitting open, I realized that she meant it as an invitation and a powerful expression of hope. LeGuin offered the same when talking about volcanoes. Here she offers even more truth:

One voice speaking truth is a greater force than fleets and armies.

Mmmmm. That’s the force you hold within and wield; the strength and impact that is yours. Yep, it is difficult. We’re not all that crazy about incurring the disruption. But I am convinced that when we do tell and live our truth, the world DOES change — conversation by conversation, behavior by behavior, action by action. And, as Gandalf said in The Lord of the Rings, “That is an encouraging thought.”

*****

Every Monday I write you a letter (and send it via email). It’s filled with truth-telling, to be sure — and encouragement and story; it’s from my heart to yours. I’d be honored if you’d subscribe. Learn more.

About Being Alone

Feb 25, 2022 | Women's Wisdom

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about being alone: the difference between actually being alone and feeling that way. .

My daughters live in two different states. I work as a solopreneur/soulpreneur, exclusively from home. I am single. There are moments in which the independence and isolation get the best of me, when I truly acknowledge how much time I spend with just me. And in such places, and sometimes, I feel sad.

It hardly takes being alone to feel alone.

I felt alone for long seasons in my marriage, in so many aspects of single-parenting, when working in corporate jobs, even pre-Covid in social contexts, gatherings, and groups.

When I do feel this way, there are two things I have learned to do:

Tell myself the truth.
Remember that I am never truly alone.

I am good about pushing hard(er) feelings down, marching forward, staying focused on to-do’s, keeping a positive attitude, persevering. In so many ways, I’m grateful that this is the case. And…there’s a dark side. It is very easy for me to not give myself the permission or space to actually feel. It’s WAY easier to just keep busy, to keep all the plates spinning, to distract myself with pretty much everything else so that I don’t have to feel much of anything. Because, let’s be honest: to feel is hard!

It took me a long time (years and years and years) to learn that my whole world would not fall if I let myself feel. But sometimes I still forget. Until I don’t. Until I feel the lump in my throat that will not subside and the tears that threaten to spill. Until I let go. Until I sit with all the uncomfortableness — all that feels unsettled and unknown and confusing. Until I can finally release and rest in all that just is — without needing to fix it or patch it up or make it better. It’s hard. And it’s generous. It’s grace, really.

There’s a second reason I sometimes feel alone — and why most of us do as women: we’ve been disconnected from the women upon whose shoulders we stand. Maybe disconnected is the wrong word. Maybe more accurate is that we’ve never been connected to them in the first place. That breaks my heart (and infuriates me).

I am reminded of a passage in Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ book, Women Who Run With the Wolves:

I once dreamt I was telling stories and felt someone patting my foot in encouragement. I looked down and saw that I was standing on the shoulders of an old woman who was steadying my ankles and smiling up at me.

I said to her, ‘No, no, come stand on my shoulders for you are old and I am young.’

‘No, no,’ she insisted, ‘this is the way it is supposed to be.’

I saw that she stood on the shoulders of a woman far older than she, who stood on the shoulders of a woman even older, who stood on the shoulders of a woman in robes, who stood on the shoulders of another soul, who stood on the shoulders . . .

The absence of this awareness, this truth, this endless and accompanying presence, is but one of the insipid and invisible impacts of patriarchy: keeping us isolated and alone, keeping us disconnected from ourselves, keeping us from acknowledging and allowing our own actual emotions, keeping us from connection with and appreciation of, even reliance on each other.

Sisterhood is important because we are all we have to stand on. We have to stand near and by each other, pray for one another, and share the joys and the difficulties that women face in the world today. If we don’t talk about it among ourselves, then we are made silent by the patriarchy, and that serves us no purpose. ~ Ntozake Shange

Because I’m not willing to be made silent (or made to feel isolated or overly emotional or too much or not enough), I intentionally and gratefully reconnect myself to the stories and the women who remind me of what is MOST true: that I am not alone.

But far beyond just me, I believe, deep in my bones, that these stories and women are for you: when you feel isolated or overly emotional or too much or not enough; when you long for wisdom and guidance and direction and focus; when you need permission to let yourself feel; when you desperately need to be reminded that you are part of a bigger, larger, and longer story that is powerful and amazing and proud; and yes, especially when/if you feel alone. Because you aren’t. Ever. Not really.

These are my endless and fervent hopes on your behalf:

Tell yourself the truth about how you feel (especially when “alone” is the word you’d use to describe such); believe that you are worthy of the deepest and most honest emotions — always.
Remember and believe that you are not alone. Because you aren’t. Ever. Not really.

Easier said than done, I know; but no less valuable, significant, or true.

*****

It is my privilege to remind you of just how powerful (and allowed) your every emotion is AND that you’re not alone. These truths and more are what I write about in my free Monday Letters. Subscribe. And these ARE the conversations that matter, that I hold and offer in my one-on-work with women. Learn more.

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