A bumper sticker on a car in front of me reads: In a world of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.
Truth heals. But how? And why? And what good does it do anyway? Plenty.
Telling the truth is about freedom. It is about joy and peace and health and living a life that is meaningful, powerful, connected, and loving. Ultimately, telling the truth is about feeling good in your own skin, unencumbered, free, and having the life that you want to live.
So why do lies so often seem nicer, tidier, easier? The truth is often uncomfortable – because so much shame and guilt are attached to it, because it has been suppressed and left unspoken for years.
The truth is a force of such magnitude that it demands to be known, one way or another. If buried, the truth will push its way to the surface. Denial or suppression of the truth will manifest as ill health, dysfunctional relationships, or financial problems. The truth does not remain silenced or suppressed comfortably. It may take a lifetime, but the truth will win out. As any good detective will tell you, even dead men tell tales.
I receive at least 15 frantic messages an hour from people desperately requesting help with their problems. By the time they contact me, they have sought out countless doctors, medical procedures, prescription drugs, you name it. They are often at a point of collapse – writhing in physical or emotional pain. The truth of their past is burning inside them like a house on fire. But they do not know that. They think they have “caught” some dreaded disease or virus; they think they are doomed to a life of misery and suffering.
We cannot live a lie and have peace. We cannot live a lie and have joy. True peace and joy are manifestations of living our personal truth.
As my story and the stories of thousands whom I have treated make clear, everything that happens to us is stored in our bodies and the energy fields surrounding them. Ultimately, health and healing happen only when a body/mind/soul wants, needs, and is ready to face the truth. Even after a lifetime of suppression, a body/mind/soul that is willing to release painful secrets can heal itself, a family, even a nation. What ultimately saves us is what we were certain would kill us – the truth.
I once heard a story about an aboriginal tribe that conducts a healing ceremony whenever anyone in the village is sick. The person with the high fever or the stomach ailment or the depression or the congested lungs sits in the center of a circle of all the villagers. The sick person is invited to speak the things that have been left unsaid by directly addressing those he felt harmed by or whom he had harmed with words or actions. What has been weighing on his heart that has never been shared? What dreams have been suppressed? The person speaks his truth. The villagers listen and acknowledge what has been said; they sit in the circle with the person who has been sick until that person is well.
The tribe knows what we as a culture have forgotten: truth heals.
My Life of Lies
I had no relationship with the truth as a child. I was raised – by both my parents – to lie and to live the lie. My father was warm, affectionate, and loving. Every night he would comfort me and talk to me and connect with me.
I remember his smell: fresh shirts and whiskey and cigarettes. Daddy’s hands loved me and coddled me and fondled me but not always in a healthy, nurturing way. Our relationship had a dark side – a side that fostered his constant admonition: “Don’t tell! Don’t tell! Don’t tell!” I was taught to keep secrets, a terrible burden, especially for a child. Children know that secrets are dangerous. They know secrets can hurt them and the family they love.
There were times when Bad Daddy marched down the hall toward my room. This was our secret that would remain unspoken, suppressed, hidden. I was learning what I would later master – the art of bottling up and never expressing the truth. By the time I was three or four years old, the habit of lying was entrenched in the cells of my body, mind, and being.
My mother also taught me, by example, the skill of denial, further shaping me into an adept liar. She looked away, ignoring what was happening between my father and me. Because I was so terrified of her, I learned to lie in order not to displease her. I also learned to disappear into my lies.
As a teenager, I put out the message that I came from a loving family, that my mother loved and cared about me. The truth was that she hated me. She did not have the same disposition toward my brother; he wasn’t female. Mother hated her own womanhood and projected that hatred onto me. Of course, I could not recognize that as a child. All I knew was that comfort, love, and understanding were not to be found in her arms.
I do not remember a single instance when she held me, kissed me, or spoke loving words to me.
When we lie long enough, the lie becomes who we are. I became so practiced at lying that I was no longer aware I was doing it. I could not distinguish between the truth and a lie. I had learned that telling the truth was not safe; in fact, the truth was not to be seen or felt or heard.
By the time I was in my twenties, I wore the lie like a beautiful suit of clothes. I was an attorney like my father: married, accomplished, successful. I was picture-perfect or so I led everyone to believe. What I did not show others, and what I barely admitted to myself, was that I was out of control – on a roller coaster of depression and manic acting out, drinking, and promiscuous affairs. My body became a minefield full of hidden problems I chose to ignore. Only when I was diagnosed with cancer did I decide to address the truth.
For more information please visit: Deborah King – Truth Heals
It will look like this: Truth Heals – What You Hide Can Hurt You