Posted by: pendrops | November 19, 2007

silent treatment


“I know you’re probably wondering what I’m still doing in my paja-“ I said to Jason when he came home for lunch the other day. He had rushed in for a quick sandwich and I was finishing up a salad after a morning spent cleaning the apartment, getting groceries and toiletries, making phone calls, and exercising.

I desperately wanted to explain this to him; that my hair was disheveled and yesterday’s mascara raccooning under my eyes because I had been so busy. I had such a great excuse for my unkempt appearance; for what, to him, must have looked like laziness as I surfed the web and nibbled lettuce in my jammies. I needed him to know I wasn’t a slacker.

But I stopped myself before the last word fully came out. I butt in on my pride, my fear, my assumptions. I shushed that damned enemy who so often deceives us in the first person. I rudely interrupted a lifetime of lies within and without.

This didn’t just happen though, this silent treatment. It had something to do with a transforming power at work in me. Something to do with breaking free. Something to do with seeing myself, and everything else, the way it really is.

And, as a result, I’ve started having moments like this, moments where I catch myself the way you sometimes do when you trip. You’re half-way down, your hands scraped from the near-fall; but you caught yourself. In mid-trip you had the presence of mind to thrust your arms out. Catching myself these days has looked something like shutting my mouth and letting Truth finally get her two cents in.

I looked at Jason, my mouth clamped shut in surprise and relief. “That’s not what you were thinking, was it?” I finally said.

He put his arms around me. “Not even close.”

“Yeah. I didn’t think so,” I said, laughing and smearing tears on his shirt.

“Look at you,” he said, giving me a high five. “That’s freedom talk!”

After a few seconds of basking, I shrugged. “I guess I don’t have anything to say now. How was your morning?”

Later that afternoon, I would remember how many times I’d fallen on this battlefield. And how this time I caught myself and gave a screaming lie the silent treatment.



  1. You’ve already told me this story and still my eyes teared up at the line, “That’s freedom talk.”


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