We Know, But We Can’t Say It
It’s those words. They sit right up there in our foreheads. They are the important ones. More often than not, they are words kept captive there by a fear we hold dear.
We know what words they are, in our hearts we do. We know what they mean to us. We can’t say them out loud because, then we would hear them and, we might get the kind of response we got once. We know that’s not so, but knowing is one thing that is easier to say, than to do.
About three nights before SOBCon07, nearing midnight I was on the phone with a dear friend. We were talking about the conference, how the event would soon be real.
I called him by name, I said, “I’m afraid.”
As any friend would, he asked what it was making me feel that way. I saw the words, felt the words, knew the answer then. I probably knew the answer for days before this conversation took place. I felt my throat tighten to think of saying the words out loud.
I said, “I know, but let’s talk some more. I can’t tell you right now.”
A while later, the subject came up again in a natural way. I knew it was important that I say the words out loud for someone to hear. I worked my way up to give context, to build courage, to make sure that we both understood. What I said came out something like this. . . .
I’m not afraid that no one will come. I know they will. I’m not afraid that the event will not be successful. It will be an experience that the attendees will never forget. I’m not afraid of the people in the room for whom I will be speaking.
I’m afraid of the kids I went to grade school with.
He wondered what I meant. I laughed and said, “Don’t worry I can handle them.”
He said, “Please explain.” I did.
What I thought was a story that’s so universal. I said, “Remember when some kids at school made you feel small?”
But those kids had shrunk and vanished the minute I let that fear out of my head — when I said it. At that exact second, they were no longer near, they were decades ago. I knew that they had forgotten me, and I could forget about their laughter at my expense. They looked small and young in the distance.
I wish we didn’t hold a fear to say what we know is our truth waiting to be said. “I’m afraid, because of the kids I went to school with.” How silly is that? Boy am I glad that sentence is out of my head.
We hold onto sentences like that. I can’t say out loud who I am, what I’m good at, what I love, where I’m going, what I dream, what I fear, what I need, what I hope, because if I say it out loud I might hear and you might respond like the kids did at school.
Imagine if we choose wisely enough to trust and to talk out loud to folks who can see us.
We can change the world — just like that.
–ME “Liz” Strauss
Leap of faith I call that. Faith in our own grown being. We might fall again, but mostly, because we have learned how to ‘jump’ and to trust the ‘mat’ we land softly.
Karin H. (Keep It Simple Sweetheart, specially in business)
Oh. My. God.
Liz, thank you. You have NO idea how much. Thank you.
Great post. My husband and I were talking the other day about how, too often, women don’t feel like they are as competent and talented as they really are. It’s scary for me to say “I’m a designer” because I’m afraid someone else out there will call me on it and prove it isn’t so.
You know, now that I’ve typed that, I see how silly it seems. Who, other than a random troll, is going to try and make me change what I do for a living?
Hi Karin,
Sorry the site issues made it hard to get back to you quickly!
Leap of faith . . . in ourselves. We’re brave enough, good enough, old enough to stand and hold our own. I know we are. 🙂
Hi Laura!
I’m grateful that my night of learning was useful to you. I hear something good and that’s a wonderful sound. 🙂
Hi Susanna!
People ask me how I knew I was a writer. The only answer I can give goes something like this . . . when other folks ideas about what I should do with my work became their ideas and opinions. I knew.
I think you just found out you’re a designer. 🙂
Hi, Liz!
Wow. I had remembered the kids. I’d forgotten the adults… The nun who handed out ‘crooked strokes’ (and I got caught in the crossfire.) The secretarial teacher who yelled at me for daydreaming (even though my work was done.) And the other, well, I need to work on that one — because I CAN! 🙂
Thank you, thank you! (Light bulb moment: Three adults who somehow gave up on themselves — and their dreams? Yep!)
P.S. Oh, Susanna, I can SO relate. We *are* what we are, even if we’re still works in progress. 😉
Hi Dar!
I so love it to see those light bulbs going on! You’re voice is filled with the light! 🙂
The trick to letting go of any fear is to recognize it, verbalize it, and realize that once you do that, there’s no power left in it anymore. fear is the unknown, fear is the different, fear is the risk- once you know and accept them, it becomes deal-able.
That said, sometimes “naming it” isn’t so easy- I am so proud of you- what a great post!
Hi Whitney!
Thank you! Naming a fear is a big step to facing it down. You betcha. I felt truly good when I heard myself say that.
🙂