Writing Conference Prompts: Lies and Fears.

What am I pretending not to know? If I were willing to admit it, what would change my life?

• I’m really not sure what I’m pretending not to know. Sometimes, I pretend not to know that Josh and I are addicts (behaviors, not substances), but I think I’ve acknowledged it to the point that I can start healing and we can continue the recovery journey together. 
• I pretend not to know how much I need books and what a crummy reader I am. I have to take ownership of that.
• I pretend not to know how much bitterness I have toward a couple of people. I can't resolve it, so I try not to feel it. None of these things seem all that revelatory in a good way.
• I pretend not to know that I should write publically and publish. I tell myself I don’t want the notoriety, that I’m content with scribbling in a journal. But maybe I don’t want to be what Alexandra Johnson calls a “hidden writer.” 
• I pretend not to know that I’m capable of writing poems and stories and books. 
• I pretend not to know what I can do. 
• I pretend not to know the difference between rest and laziness…it’s a difficult distinction, but I think I know it. I should, anyway. Or do other people struggle with that too?
• I pretend not to know that I have some horrible thoughts that probably stem from some intense mental illness or depravity. Or maybe I pretend not to know that those thoughts, the intrusive ones, are a version of normal. I don’t really see how any of this liberates me. 
• I pretend not to know how bad I am at managing time. 
• I pretend not to know how tired I am. 

Something I no longer fear: 

I’m not really afraid that Josh doesn’t love me. I know he does, has, and will. It won’t be perfect. He will hurt me. He may betray me. But it’s real. The good things count. The memories count even if he wasn't fully present. I also no longer fear that I won't be able to forgive him. And I no longer fear that I will betray myself.

I'm no longer afraid that I will betray Josh in some way. I've betrayed his trust before, but that was a long time ago. The more recent times I've caused him to mistrust me feel distant too because of the resolutions I've made, that I feel capapble of fulfilling. I no longer fear that I won't be able to recover. I've recovered myself before. I've put measures in place to help me be who I want to be and who my family needs me to be. I'm also no longer pretending that my worst flaws aren't that big of a deal. 

I'm no longer afraid, I think, of my parents' disapproval. I've done about the worst things I'm capable of doing. It was bad for a time, but it's not bad now. I've made the confessions I need to make. I'm trying to live well. But their approval isn't tantamount as it used to be. It doesn't control my actions through submission or through rebellion. I'm not ashamed to ask them for help. They also seemed to have accepted me a lot more as I've gotten older.

This is a lie I’ve told before:

What lies have I told? That I haven’t eaten sticky candy: a Starburst or a Skittle that pulled out my crowns. I think the dentist is the only person I lie to. I'm not much of a liar, and I've become less secretive. Maybe I embellish the truth for the sake of storytelling sometimes. Maybe I am vague about the truth. But I can't think of a recent time I've done these things. Maybe I lie to myself. Do I lie to myself about what’s important to me? Or how much rest I need (more? less?)? Or how I need to manage my time? Maybe I’ve lied about my ambition, pretending to be content with a smaller life, with journals, with writing privately. That seems to be what's coming out of the prompts today.