I’m not trying to say that I’m an advocate of lying, but there are times when I choose not to tell the whole truth. Or maybe what I’m trying to say is that I’m very adept at choosing not to walk the line when I don’t want to – I’m a skilled player when it comes to evasion and asking questions to keep the heat off of me and focused on you.

So, I was shocked when I told him the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It was the raw underbelly of my heart; and my inner-woman was stunned that I had let it roll off my tongue so freely, so vulnerably. Like it was nothing; when it was really everything.


I blame it on the fact that we’re fire friends. That when everyone else has retreated into their tents for the night, we alone stay at the edge of the campfire for just a few more minutes.

If there’s any place not to lie, it seems to me that it’s in front of a fire. There’s something sacred and beautiful about fire, and even more so when you share the experience of appreciating it with someone.

Several times we’ve been left alone – and those few minutes stretch into their own space, where standard rules don’t seem to apply. We’re not really friends, but around the fire late into the night, we’re kindred spirits releasing truths into the air, into the space that is ours alone.


I blame it on the fact that we walked on the beach together, hand in hand; that we shared a bed and a beautiful meal; that you took my breath away with beauty, art and music, as well as your direct line of questioning that parceled all my heartfelt responses into nothing but a pile of empty, thoughtless excuses.

I was using them to avoid the truth. You knew it. And you led me to it slowly.

It was a dawning, a fiery sunrise within my own heart that you witnessed. It was sacred and beautiful. And there was no space for lies.


I blame it on the fact that I’ve been too busy and too stressed for too long. I’ve been telling everyone else’s story instead of giving my own the care and room for development that it needed.

I blame it on the fact that I’ve been evading the truth within my own heart.


“To be absolutely honest, in two years what I really hope is to have need for a family car. To need enough room for a significant other, a baby and a dog.”


Such a simple truth to reveal, the fact that I want a family. But it’s something I want…so badly…that I haven’t wanted to admit it.

It’s no surprise that a little girl growing up in a broken family would dream of a house full of boys: one big one for me and a few smaller ones that we made together. And I knew that it would be a house filled with happiness. It was what I wanted.

It is what I want.


It rolled off my tongue. This confession.

From one beautiful soul to another, in a shared space where lying wasn’t permitted, I spoke aloud a truth that I had barely even whispered in the depths of my heart.

And why not? Because I don’t want to hold onto it for fear that it won’t happen.

If hold onto it and it doesn’t happen, I’m devastated – and then have to deal with it; whereas, if I don’t hold onto it, I can pretend that it wasn’t ever really that important to me to begin with.

A loose hold means that it’s easier to move on, move forward. Disappointment is easier to manage than devastation.

A family: a mom, a dad, a kid, a baby and a dog. A happy, silly, growing family. It seems like such a simple thing to want, but it brings tears to my eyes, and my heart swells like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and I can’t see the ground.


I held that dream in my hands recently.

It was handed to me. It took me by surprise. And even though I had reason to doubt, I couldn’t resist the call of my heart.

Stupid heart. Stupid call. The dream ended abruptly.

It was like being the last in line dancing to the Piper’s song and tripping over a limb into a night-cold brook. Holding my throbbing head in my hands, wondering why I was freezing cold and alone in the dark.


Was it possible that instead of a happily-ever-after, I had really just been about to sell my soul to the devil?


The heat is on – and there is no evading it this time. I’ve offered up my heart for evaluation.

It’s time for me to face the truth.