Negative Transparency

When I first got married, I was on my guard. A lot. My fiance (now husband) had repeatedly told me that I needed to be open with him. Transparent. That I had to share my life.

I am a naturally effervescent individual. I didn't think that would be so hard, but I did know that I always wanted people to think I was perfect, to view my life through a rosy, hazy glow of golden delight. Kind of like a Pinterest post... perfect, artsy, well-lit. And completely not practical.

So I made a concerted effort to share with my new husband. I was determine that I would not be one of those women who isn't transparent with her spouse. I told him about my crappy days, my horrible moods, my freak "flash-fears" (you know, those brief terrifying moments in which you think, "I may lose all my hair!" or "When I'm old, I'll be one of those women who has to visit the podiatrist in order to get her claw-like toe nails clipped."). I told him about my struggled spiritually. I told him my fears about our relationship, our future.

I was honestly, gut-wrenchingly, persistently transparent.

About the bad stuff.

I took it for granted that he would know that I was delighted at the golden sunrise, his amazing pancakes, and the cuddle I got from a little patient that day. Of course he would know that I was growing in joy, developing a deeper love for prayer, and growing my passion for the world-wide church. My love for hip-hop and dance parties, the delight I get in picking blueberries, and my latest victory at work--he had to know about those. Of course.

Except that I wasn't telling him.

I would come home, determine to be transparent about my day, and my transparency turned into a litany of my struggles. Because that's being transparent, right? Surely people know the good things, right?

Nope. Not right.

People have to be told the happy moments too. Especially men. That's not a slam. It's a fact. You share troubles and worries, and they're immediately side-tracked, determined to solve those troubles. I married my knight in shining armor, so he was pretty much sold on the idea of erasing all my worries and cares. So, I would come home, dump worries and cares on him, and he would spend the rest of the night mentally (or verbally) trying to solve them.

Then he started saying things like, "I'm so sorry you're unhappy." "I'm so sorry marriage is so difficult for you." "I'm so sorry that your life has turned into this since you've married me."

And then I was confused. You see, I was (am) ecstatically happy. I love my honey. I thought life couldn't get any better, and I harbored a secret little sorrow that not everyone could marry a man as wonderful as Scott. (Because there is only one Scott, and I got him.) Sure, work was sometimes hard, life isn't perfect, and God gives us moments of trials to make our desire for heaven grow, but as a whole, I lead a charmed, delightful life. Why on earth did my husband think I was miserable with him?

It's because I only shared the bad things. In my book, transparency is something raw and real. It's something you are struggling with and need help to share. When people are "transparent" in church circles, it's usually because they're sharing something very painful or vulnerable, weakening. People aren't called "transparent" when they bubble over with joy. And so, I had morphed into my view of transparency, so that my husband would be able to connect with me. And my transparent joy had drifted out of my conversation.

What's wrong with unadulterated joy? Why, in a ladies' small group, or discipleship conversation, do I feel the need to find something painful and raw? To prove that I'm growing? To prove that God is working on me? What if I'm in a moment where God is working through unstinted blessings? Walks in the sunlight? A period of rest and joy?

Transparency is not negative, raw, painful emotions. Transparency is a delighted, inward look at how God is changing and growing me.

I'm still working to correct months of "negative transparency." Developing a certain communication style is hard to change, but I'm delighted that I get to change by talking more about the delights God is lavishing on me. I'm so deliciously happy!