Authenticity | Acceptability

My "one big thing" from this weekend's wellness retreat and a Monday night confession.

I knew there’d be one thing, one moment, one realization that would shake my insides. One unknowable reason for being here beyond the invitation to speak.

It came later in the day. From an unexpected voice. The words…

“We’re constantly living between authenticity and acceptability.”

I was listening, but with that after lunch set of ears. It’s slower, more like molasses dripping from the jar than a bolt of lightning to your brain. So, I saw this one make its way to me, drip through my ears, and penetrate my soul.

My whole life, the entire crux of my insatiable struggle, held between two “a” words that end in “y”.

To know me is to understand how much I hate being fake. It is the opposite of joy for me. I don’t like lying to people and telling them it’s fine when it’s clearly not. “I hope that’s okay” is my least favorite four-word sentence. I want to tell people who bring their snotty 2-year old to my 7-year old’s birthday party without asking and who do not offer to pay the extra $26 it will cost for that ragamuffin to play and eat because now we are over the package limit that it is NOT OKAY and they know its not or they wouldn’t say that!

I want to tell people when their hair looks bad, when their clothes don’t match, when they smell, when they’re rude, or when the decision they are actively making is like playing the floor is lava, but for reals.

AND, I want to tell a teenager that her skin is exquisite, stop a stranger to say that dress looks fantastic on her, compliment a fellow father on how hard he’s working to finish school, and gift another mother with the nugget that her child was genuinely kind to my child. I want to tell the truth to make other people feel amazing, not to hurt them, and I don’t want to lie to them because I want them to trust my truth. That is my authenticity.

I know there’s a generous interpretation, and I try to lead with that. Sometimes I fail, but my intention is for my “I love you”, sent through whatever surface words I’m actually saying, to feel so true that it can’t possibly be questioned.

But, that’s a lot. Too much, some might (and have) say. I am the extremes of all the things. Too fast, too loud, too busy, too bossy, too strong…too much.

So, I have tried my entire life to counter my authenticity with acceptability. What amount of loud means I’m getting your attention, not assaulting your ears? What amount of speed means I’m getting things done without getting too far ahead? What amount of busy sustains my curious mind without overwhelming my capacity? What amount of bossy makes me slightly endearing, like “I can’t help it” instead of “We can’t help her? What amount of strong means I can carry my own shit but I don’t want to or have to carry yours too? What amount of much would be not too much but just enough?

Acceptability. Acceptable. Able to be tolerated or allowed. Suitable.

But to whom? Who am I suiting if not myself?

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It’s not surprising that my one thing came during a talk on perimenopause. The retreat I had been invited to, aptly named The Breakaway, centers around redefining the concept of wellness. One aspect of that, certainly, is our physical bodies, so I approached the session with pen in hand. At 44, I am most assuredly perimenopausal, and learning that my itchy ears and constant shoulder pain might not, in fact, be allergies and a torn labrum, but instead a cortisol dump and frozen shoulder courtesy of my changing hormones was fascinating. But I expected to learn about my chemistry and physiology. I just wasn’t prepared for a lesson on my psychology to get thrown in there too.

And yet, isn’t it all connected? Can you be “well” if any of the -ologies is amiss? Are providers really just concentrated on one -ology at a time? And, if so, perhaps that’s why the menopause market is expected to reach $27.6 billion by 2033. Because what we’ve been doing ain’t working.

My guess? Acceptability tanks at a certain age. It’s just no match for authenticity any more. When you sweat through your clothes in a room that’s 68 degrees and you wake up in the middle of the night with anxiety about ants and no matter what you eat or don’t eat, it always looks like you’re wearing an inflatable inner tube, and feels like it too, authenticity may be all we’ve got to throw at the world. What if it’s just not possible to be acceptable when you’re too hot, too bloated, too tired, too itchy, too pissed?

At that point, I guess all you can be is yourself. What a joyful side effect.

I mentioned during my talk at the retreat that I think “wellness” is a bullshit word. Kinda like how I used to feel about joy. We’ve seen that evolve, and undoubtedly, so too will my relationship with “wellness.” What I’ve hated about it the term to date is the inherent expectation that its an end state, a laudable goal to be achieved, an “acceptable” way of living.

Authentically, wellness for me looks like two shots of tequila and a margarita on a Monday night with a bunch of parent friends screaming at each other over our kids cacophony and Mexican music playing in the background because Cinco de Mayo is on a Monday and its the only day we can get together because every weekend is taken up with all of the acceptable crap we’ve agreed to do as proper parents.

I didn’t sleep Monday night, likely because of a combination of the tequila and the torrent of thoughts spilling over in my mind after six hours of adult conversation. Yes, the next morning was unpleasant. Mainlining chicory coffee to manage the day would not be considered a “balanced” approach, but it worked. I’m here…writing this.

And ironically, or perhaps serendipitously, I feel more well today after the retreat this weekend and my Monday Moxie with margaritas and my mom-ily than I have in months.

So, fuck you acceptability.

Joy, for me, lives on the side of authenticity.

As for wellness, I still scrunch my nose when I see the word, but after this weekend, I wonder if there’s a messy middle there to be explored. What landed with me is this.

“You get to choose the garden you water.”

My garden - the result of our first prompt at The Breakaway. No worries from the artists in the audience.

I suck as a gardener, but I have no plans to waste any more water on acceptability. I’d like to plant a little wellness, grow my authenticity, and maybe, just maybe, harvest a little joy.

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Our next Writer’s Retreat is on the books and open for registration! Come learn from NYT Bestselling Author and Founder of Soul Speak Press, Jessica Buchanan, and two-time author and international traveler, Jennifer Artley, and little ‘ole me, about the Business of Writing. This 1.5 day retreat is the perfect way to get going on those publishing plans, build community with other writers in the same boat, and spend some time away in beautiful Old Town Alexandria. Early bird pricing until July 1st! Details below…