Mullis: The beauty of warts

Recently an extended family member had a medical emergency, sparking a flurry of activity. Hospitals are unique in their ability to unite a family tree and spotlight the family dry rot. While stumbling through explanations to outsiders and tiptoeing around insiders, it occurred to me that every family has these ugly experiences.

It’s just that normally we don’t talk about them. In fact, when you check out people’s social media feeds all you see is an endless parade of perfect days with perfectly photogenic families and friends – no warts at all. Often I wonder what’s just outside the group selfie. The teenager sulking in the corner? The siblings shouting over whom mom loves best? The dog eating out of the garbage?

Not that I want to see those things there, but it would make me feel less…less. When you “like” the perfect, you can’t help but measure yourself against it.

In a culture that shares so much, we don’t share too deeply and I’m not suggesting we should, especially online. The deep stuff is for the friends who know about the dog eating the garbage. Still, I’ve seen the curative effects of sharing the imperfect. It started when I was a young mother.

My son was a sick baby and many days I did not feel like a good mom. I was ashamed of my shortcomings, which made me quiet. Eventually, the doctors tested my son for acid reflux. Bingo. Although the diagnosis didn’t bring instant relief, what it did bring was a community of parents who knew what I was going through.

I wasn’t less. I was normal.

Years later, my sister’s friend had an acid reflux baby. Although I didn’t know her well, I wrote her a letter, sharing my experience and offering my help. When I saw her next, she told me how much the letter meant – just knowing she wasn’t alone.

It’s funny how our most troubling times produce these opportunities for compassion. When shared at the right time with the right person, it brings comfort.

I’ve seen this while my raising kids. Feeding, clothing, nursing, and educating them are the easy parts. When their hearts are broken or their best wasn’t good enough or their dreams are derailed, my best tools are my scars.

Sometimes “You shall overcome” isn’t as powerful as “You’re not the only one."

I’ve been writing this column for 11 years and the stories I worry are too solemn or too personal are the very pieces that generate the most reader response, mostly along the lines of “I can relate”. This has always fascinated me.

Recently, my editor sent me a quote from psychologist Carl Rogers that offered a possible explanation.

“…what is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others.”

I believe this is true.

During the last week, I’ve called friends to break appointments and change dates. Although I skirt the details as to why, they get the general idea and their response is, “I can relate.”

And they can. They may not know the specifics, but they know those feelings of worry, sadness, even a little shame over family fractures that are slow to heal. Their empathy may not fix things, but it makes the burden a bit more bearable. It reminds me to give myself a break and to give everyone around me a break.

Our warts may not make the pictures, but they make us kind.

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith.” You can reach her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com or www.NicoleLVMullis.com.