The flexitarian prescription

Humans are lucky. Not because we have access to dental care (yes, that’s awesome and kudos to the man who invented Novocain), and not because we have been blessed with the propensity to explore passion and knowledge and feed our curiosities, but because we have language. Because we are fortunate to be able to express ourselves—and in turn, hopefully, understand one another.

But. On the flip side, just because we have language doesn’t mean we always use it when we should. Like the times when you bite down hard on your tongue to stop yourself from saying how you feel for fear of sounding stupid, or hurting someone else, or maybe, just maybe, because your exposed truth might leave you vulnerable to becoming the hurt one.

Of course vulnerability can also lead to greatness. Because when two people are equally invested in their relationship, then being vulnerable suddenly switches from a sign of weakness to one of strength. 

Truth is, I’ve had a lot of internal turmoil over the last five to seven years. And if I’m speaking my truth here, I can honestly say that far too many times I chose to be silent rather than speak my truth—and it’s caught up with me. And at times, I really don’t know what to do. Yet, I have this bracelet I wear that says “fear less.” Not “fearless.” See the difference?

But. I’m not much of a talker. Never have been. I know people, however, who are posts with the spoken word. My husband used to bend me with his words both in a good way, and bad. Well, maybe bad isn’t the right word … because it was never bad, just uncomfortably smack-me-in-the-face raw. As for the good ways, well, let me just say this … with a few words he used to send me into orbit—so high that the only way to bring me down was with his touch … and when he touched me, my very soul would tremble for more. Sadly, I fear I’ve lost that. Why? I think it’s because the truth has escaped us.

“The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space.” ― Marilyn Monroe

And then there’s my children … I’ve become so preoccupied with not wanting to upset them or God forbid embarrass them, that I have been anything but truthful. Anything but, fearless … and my mother, well, same thing—she is my mother, afterall.

Work … well, someone give me a lollipop because I’ve finally figured out that speaking up for what’s right is far more important than going with the status quo. Of course I have enough of a backbone to well, back my decisions. So, there’s that.

And so, here I am. Admittedly, more afraid than not of being vulnerable. And I don’t like it. Because even if my hands are shaking, I’d rather find a way to speak. Because when I don’t, it tears me up. It festers, boils over and rots (quote the late great Langston Hughes). Believe me, I know. I spent years mastering the fine, fine art of avoidance and at times, paid dearly for it.

It is never wrong to speak the truth.

So, what now? I don’t know. But I do know this … I for one will forever be grateful to the man who invented Novocain—although the dentist scares the piss out of me. Like for real. So much so that at this exact moment I’m beginning to break out in hives at the mere thought of his chair. Which, I suppose, is far better than having a meltdown because I didn’t speak my truth. Am I right?

Note, in recognition of mental health awareness month (May 2025) you might see a few more posts like this—why? Because it feels good to be real … to be truthful … to face (albeit somewhat anonymously) head on. Thanks for “listening.”