I know you know who I am

There are only a few people that I can say that about. I know you know who I am. In order to really trust that someone knows me, they have to have seen me at my best (playing with kids), and at my worst (crying about anything). There is just nothing quite as ugly as seeing me cry. The swollen eyes, the awful, gut wrenching sobbing, that is about as ugly a place to be as it is for you to see. My sister and I were chatting recently about how some people can cry and look pristine and unaltered. We, however, get the bright red nose, the swollen eye lids that make us look like we have mere slits for eye openings, and snot that comes out of our nose at an unfathomable rate.

I try not to let this side get seen too often. But, there are times when I literally can't hold it back. I feel bad for the pastors at church, or my therapist who might be the frequent observers of this pathetic state of being. Of course, Chris too, he has seen it more than anyone else. He should get an award or something. Like a bronzed tissue box for all the times he has sat and allowed me to cry, sob, yell, scream, beg, and plead for life to be different, less painful. I think I would say he knows who I am. There have only been a few times that I have questioned that. Sometimes, I question if I know who I am.

I feel pretty confident that I know myself. But, there are certainly periods of time that I haven't. There have been times when everything I thought I knew about myself has been turned upside down and turned this way and that. But, even in those times, I am hopeful that there are people who saw me and knew me for who I was and am, even if I wasn't feeling myself. Like my mom and dad, for instance. They have known and loved me through my best and worst times. Even when they didn't know the details, they knew when my heart was broken. They also knew when I was overjoyed over some success or blessing, even if they didn't know why. My siblings are other people who know me for who I am. I know they know me. They haven't always liked me, but they have always known me. That could be why they didn't like me. They knew my stubbornness and my single mindedness. They know my brokenness and my failures.

Then there are those close friends who have stood by me and loved me for who I am, even when I haven't loved myself. Maybe they were only there for a brief time, but they saw me and loved me for who I was. They saw my tears and my struggles, and they saw my laughter and my joy. There have been those few friends with whom I have been completely free to be me. Some of them are still by my side. They are precious friends indeed. For they are the ones who know that my heart loves and breaks in full opposition to one another. My dear friends have touched my heart and cared for my soul when I wasn't able to. They have seen my sorrow and my pain, and they reassured me that it would be ok. That in the darkness of the night, there is a God who loves me and will wait patiently for me to be refreshed and renewed. Some of them I have known for many, many years. And some I have known a much shorter amount of time. But, I know with certainty that they know who I am.

And others, well they have moved forward, or away, or stayed right where they are while I have moved in another direction. It's hard for me to say if they really knew me. Because, maybe they came at times when I didn't know myself so well. These are the friendships that grieve my heart. For I really thought I knew their heart and it was so worthy of love, and I felt blessed to be called a friend. It is hard for me to reconcile whether I was wrong in my assumption of knowing, or if they never really knew me. I think it also true that, maybe they really did know me, but in the end, they didn't like or love me for who I was and am. That is a tough pill to swallow. What's even harder for me is believing that I didn't know their heart. What was presented and offered as friendship may have been something other than sincere and genuine. Maybe it was unintentional, and unconscious, but it wasn't a friendship based on a reality of who we actually were. I could name a handful of people that this is the case. None of them are people that I wanted to see drift away. What's worse is I don't know what the truth is or was.

I have come to grips with some. I don't know if I will ever understand or have the option to reconcile with some others. I am still struggling to accept the path that I am walking without them. I am sometimes mad at myself that I wasn't the kind of friend that I needed to be. Sometimes it is bitterness I feel. Bitterness because I have been judged and ridiculed without opportunity to defend myself or apologize for the perceived wrong doing. Sometimes it is anger. Anger that this world places such high demands on relationships that can never be met and can lead to disappointment and frustration. And mostly, I feel sad. Sad that I don't have some people in my life that I valued and loved and considered the kind of friends who know who I am. Sometimes writing about this helps because it helps me see the reality on both sides of the friendship. I can own that I didn't know, and I can accept that what is known isn't sufficient at this time in life. But acceptance is not always a comfort. But, I will continue to value and appreciate those friends who have been so good to me. I know they know who I am, and they love me anyway. I continue to look forward to more friendships in my life that will be mutually beneficial. I am blessed to love and know those people in my life who allow me to be their friend. And, I am thankful.