Hey everybody. This is Gary, and this is Stories from an Ordinary Week. One story, one distinction. Here’s this week’s.
I was first told my wisdom teeth needed to come out sixteen years ago, and this week I got them out.
I want to walk you through those sixteen years, because the story isn’t really about the teeth. I had the top two done back then and never went back for the bottom ones. Then I didn’t go to a dentist at all for twelve years. When I finally did, they found nothing. No cavities, nothing wrong, except one wisdom tooth that had gotten a little loose. They told me to get them out. I didn’t. My last visit before this month was a deep cleaning, two years ago, and it was the worst pain I can remember. But I guess that’s what you get for staying away from the dentist for 12 yrs. Then the loose tooth got very loose, and then it got infected, and then I didn’t have a choice anymore.
Here’s the part I want to be honest about. For sixteen years I had justifications not to go to the dentist, and they all sounded reasonable. I don’t really need to. They’re just trying to sell me something. Twelve years and no cavities, so clearly I’m fine. Every one of those was a sentence I could say out loud without flinching. None of them was the true one.
The true one was: I’m afraid of the pain.
Now, here’s what makes this interesting to me, because I’m not new to being afraid of things. Years ago I was terrified of public speaking. And the way I got over it was about as vulnerable as it gets: I put together a presentation on the fear of public speaking, and I went out and gave it at every Rotary club that would have me. I stood in front of rooms full of strangers and told them I was scared of standing in front of rooms full of strangers. I’ve had years of practice saying out loud and doing the things I’m insecure about or afraid of.
But admitting being afraid of physical pain was different. That one I’d never felt comfortable saying. I was raised to be tough, like a lot of us were, and toughness was something to be proud of. So I had two fears sitting in the car on the way to that appointment, and only one of them was about teeth. The first was the pain. The second was walking up to a dentist and saying so.
Notice how the hiding sounds. It sounds like I hate the dentist. Everybody says it. It gets a nod, maybe a laugh, and the conversation’s over. And look at where that sentence lands. It lands on the dentist. On the whole profession. It points out there. I’m afraid points inside. That’s the whole difference, and it’s why one of them is easy to say and the other one took me sixteen years.
So that day I said the true version. I told them about my last deep cleaning. I told them the pain was the worst I’d ever had. I told them I’d been putting this off for years, and that I was afraid.
Notice what they did, because it’s a short list and it’s a complete one.
They didn’t argue with me. They didn’t tell me not to be afraid. They didn’t take it personally, and nobody scolded me for ignoring the plan they’d given me sixteen years ago. They asked questions. They told me what they could do. But they did tell me I needed another deep cleaning. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t go to your follow-up visits. They scheduled my next deep cleaning with the hygienist who has a reputation for being gentle, and they told me I was in good hands.
On the way home I noticed something. I wasn’t as afraid of the next appointments. I wasn’t really looking forward to them, but I at least felt like I had a partner in this. Nothing had been done to my teeth yet.
It’s funny how fear seems to diminish when we feel heard, seen and reassured.
And this week I got the teeth out. The pain was minimal. It was gone in three days. Sixteen years of avoiding something that cost me three days.
That’s what got me thinking about the fears that are bigger than that. The ones that run every day for a lot of people. The fear that you don’t belong, don’t matter, that you’ll be let down or that you’re not good enough. That what happened to you once is going to happen again. And a fear that runs underneath all of those…the fear of being unworthy of love. And I think there’s one more: that if you ever said it out loud, you’d be dismissed, or blamed, or laughed at. What if the thing we’re most afraid of is sharing what we’re afraid of?
Imagine the dentist had said oh, don’t be afraid. Or sighed. Or made it about the sixteen years. I’d have sat in that chair alone with it, the way most people sit with their real fears every day. That office turned out to be a safe place…they’re trained for it and it shows. Most people don’t have one.
So here’s the distinction. Hiding and vulnerability.
From the outside they look almost the same. Both show up for the appointment. Both sit in the chair. The difference is one sentence. I hate the dentist is hiding. I’m afraid of the pain is vulnerability. One is your mind’s way of protecting you from pain, one is about finding safety so a need can be met. One lands on somebody else. The other one comes from inside you. One keeps everybody out, including you. The other one gives the person across from you something they can actually do.
And how you say it changes the room, not just for you, for them. Say I hate this and the room gets harder for everybody in it. Say I’m afraid of this and the room gets safer, because now there’s something to be gentle about.
You can’t argue a fear away. Yours or anyone else’s. What changes it is how it’s met the first time it’s said.
So here’s what I’m carrying into this week, and what I’d ask you to carry too. Two things.
Where am I saying I’m fine when I really am is afraid of sharing a fear? That’s the hiding, and it’s usually hiding in plain sight.
And the other side: if somebody tells you one true thing this week, that’s your whole job. Don’t argue. Don’t shrink it. Don’t make it about you. Ask a question. Say what you can do.
Where in your life is it safe to say what you’re actually afraid of?
And if you choose to share it, you may be surprised to learn that a lot of people are afraid of the same thing. And that kind of honest vulnerability is something we can all work from.
See you next Sunday where we’ll discuss my favorite meme, and the distinction of Optimized → Good Enough.
Gary
