Really Real?

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes."  For he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

-- The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams, 1922

For years upon years I was living a life that did not feel real.  I was playing a part, accumulating accomplishments, recognition, things.  

In the beginning, I was "real," but not authentic.  "Real," but scared.   Scared of not achieving the things I was told I was capable of.  Scared of doing things wrong.  Or scared of what other people would think.  Scared of not measuring up.

Usually, I was more scared of what other people thought of me than the things I was afraid of, so I plowed ahead.  I worked my way through college, got my degree.  Got a good job.  Moved across the country.  Several times.  Received promotions and recognition.  Bought a house.  Had 3 pets relying on me.

Somewhere along the way though, I stopped feeling.  I was going through the motions.  And when I was scared, I just hid in a bottle.  And when I would crawl out, I would still be scared.  Not just of what was, but what might have changed when I wasn't looking.  So I drank and hid some more.  Every day, becoming less and less engaged with the world.  Every day, becoming less and less "real."

One day, a day that seems almost surreal to me now, my circumstances were severely shaken up. The world around me stopped and my focus was shifted in ways I did not expect.  My journey towards living a meaningful life began again from a place of fear, weakness and dispair.

When the fog began to clear, early in my recovery, I started to feel "real" again.  It wasn't very fun to be "real" in those days.  The things I was feeling were not always very pleasant.  However, I did feel hope.  That came at the very start.  It was a tiny flicker of hope.  It seemed to burn bright, but looking back from a better place, it was a very tiny flame of light in a very dark, dark place.  It was enough though.  Enough hope to keep me going.


There were people all around me who supported me.  Encouraged me.  Believed in me.  Even when I did not know how to believe in myself.  So I worked and worked and kept faith that the people around me knew best how to lead me from hope to the promise of better days.


And slowly, slowly, I started to grow and believe in myself, on my very own.  Until one day, without even noticing how it happened, I found myself doing and saying things that I wanted to do.  Things that made sense to me.  Things that made me feel real, genuine, authentic.  Feel like I think God wanted me to feel.  Real.