The Truth

I want to tell the truth. And the truth is…love hurts. Dating. Family. Marriage. Friends. Relationships in general. They all just hurt. And understanding that gives you power. Understanding that sets you free. It is the fear of getting hurt that holds so many of us back. It is that fear of not being accepted. Of not being loved in return. It is that fear of giving of ourselves to someone else that keeps us from giving. Fear.

If there is one thing I have learned in my 26, almost 27, years it is that fear and faith cannot coexist. If there is one thing I have learned it is that fear does not breed greatness. Faith does. Hope does. Love does. Movement does. Chances does. Choices does. But not fear.

Why are we so afraid to be hurt, though? Why are we so afraid to fall? To get scraped? To get bruised?

I remember being…5 years old? 6? 7? However old you are when you learn to ride a bike. I remember my mother supporting me on that bike and instructing me on what to do. I remember pedaling those skinny little legs of mine as hard as I could. I remember steering that bike and doing all I could to stay upright. To stay “alive”. But you know what happened? I fell. I lost control of the bike. My balance wasn’t what I thought it was. I couldn’t do it. So I fell. Not intentionally. Nope, I did not WANT to fall, I was doing everything I could NOT to fall, but you know what? I fell anyway. Hard. On our all gravel driveway, might I add. I remember crying. Like really crying. Because I was am a total baby about pain. I remember my mom taking me into our house and putting that awful stuff adults always put on cuts and scratches. The one that stings profusely and bubbles up. Then she stuck a band aid over my cuts, took me down off the sink and said,

“Ready to try again?”

And in my head, and probably my face reflected this, I remember thinking,

“What?! Are you kidding me? Try again? Is this woman nuts?! I just fell to my death! There’s no way I’m trying that again!”

But being the mom that she was, and having the ability to get me to do things I wouldn’t normally do, I agreed. And out the door and down the steps we went to my bike. Where…I tried again. And probably again. And honestly, probably again and again. But you know what? I got it. Eventually. But I got it. And I’m happy to say I successfully can ride a bike to this day.

So what’s the point? The point is, things are hard. Things fall apart. We fail. People fail. We get hurt. Again. And again. And again. But wounds heal. Hearts are mended. Bruises fade and cuts turn to scabs which turn to new skin. Time heals. But what do we gain from sitting on the side lines? Being an almost 27 year old that can’t ride a bike? I certainly hope not. I am not going to miss out on opportunities to grow. I am not going to miss out on opportunities to learn. I am not going to miss out on opportunities to love. All in the name of fear. That’s ridiculous. And I hope you don’t either.

If there is one thing I want to be said about me when I am gone, it’s that I loved.

Fearlessly. Fiercely. Freely. Loyally. Truly. Unapologetically.

I want it to be said that I loved and in return, I was loved. To love is to give. And I am going to give. All of me. To everyone that I possibly can. And sometimes, most times, it won’t work out. People will still not like me. People will still disappoint me. People will still leave. Things will still fall apart. Things will still fail. I will still fail. But one thing will be for certain, it won’t be because I didn’t try. It won’t be because I avoided potential hurt. It won’t be because I was afraid. No. You won’t be able to say that about me. And hopefully not you either.