My Truth in Cupcakes

Many years ago, being honest felt good.  When I really spoke my truth I put a little piece of my soul out there for someone else to consider.  Regardless of the reaction, it felt good to put it out there, a little piece of this is who I am.  Let me differentiate for a moment between the truth and my truth.

The truth: there are lots of facts and daily details of life we communicate about.  What time is dinner, when is soccer practice, did you feed the animals, what's the balance on the checkbook.  Those kind of truths.  The examples I gave are more minor, but there are big truths too: I love my kids.

When I talk about my truth I think of things I feel spiritually connected to, things that move me.  Things I tend to keep extremely close to the vest.  That I love my kids is a truth, while WHY I love them is my truth.  When I wander around feeling connected to my spirituality and my program I hand out little cupcakes of my truth.  I bake lots of different kinds, put them in a nice pink bakery box tied with string, and pay attention.  You tell me your story, and as I listen, I'll untie the string to the box, lift back the lid and ponder which one to offer you.  Depressed? Chocolate with chocolate frosting.  Breaking up? Red velvet cake with cream cheese.  Struggling not to drink?  Anything with sprinkles.

I give them away with no strings attached.  Don't like cupcakes? Lick off the frosting and throw the rest away.  Not the right cupcake?  Trade it for another.  I have plenty.  Not in the mood for a cupcake?  Give it to someone who will want it: a child or the dog.  Stick a candle in it and celebrate your sobriety date.  It is the giving and offering, not the receiving that pleases me.

If I share in a meeting, I've brought a box of cupcakes and plunked them down by the coffee.  I gesticulate, my voice shakes, I get honest.  I don't claim happy AA face all the time, and while I'm grateful to be sober, I struggle with the fear and pain part of life every day.   Here's my truth: I hate that fear and pain bullshit and I will do ANYTHING to avoid it.  Garden, read, grocery shop, work, laundry,   wash the windows.  Anything but give away cupcakes.

When I am in fear and pain I keep all those cupcakes to myself, and compulsively knot the string on the box.  I hide the box behind my back, tape it up for good measure.  MINE, MINE, NO SHARING OF CUPCAKES.  I'm too attached to the receiving at that point, my serenity is gone.  I get worried about what you'll do with it: maybe you will throw it away (but I MADE that), maybe you will scorn it (but I put a lot of love into that), maybe you will hide it and only bring it out when it is moldy and ruined (but that's not how it was when I gave it to you), maybe it will just be ignored, sitting out on the table losing its significance without comment.  Or the worst, I'll get all caught up in what I get back for giving you the cupcake.

What other people think of me is none of my business.  The more I internalize this, the more I give away cupcakes.  Notice it is not "what MOST other people", it is implied that it is ALL other people.  I offer that not speaking my truth is still making what someone else thinks of me my business.  If you don't know what I really believe, then you can't reject it, nor can you embrace it.  It seems like the "goal" is to get to a place where belief is enough, not what someone else does with it.  How do you let go of what happens to the cupcake?