I’ve been mulling over the concept of integrity over the last few days. More than just HAVING it, how many of us actually LIVE with it?
I know for a fact that I like to think I do, but I don’t. Not consistently anyway. And it’s hard but necessary to tell that truth.
Living with integrity means more to me than its simplistic meaning. Often my spirit is nudging me in one direction and I bypass that feeling and go in the direction that puts myself last. And havoc gets created internally as a result. Can I live a life that involves being true to myself fully without worrying about what people would think? No. It seems I cannot. And therefore I lack integrity.
When my life turned a corner, I promised and committed to living with the full expression of who I am, actively participating in life after wanting to die for so long. But like most women, I suspend my deepest desires and needs in service of what needs to be done. That is not living with integrity.
I’m not the same woman I was even a year ago, fortunately. I’ve learnt that only by owning who and what I am, am I able to step into life fully. But I’ve bought into this distorted hype of what society deems beautiful and correct and loathe my aging process. I used to hold it in reverence, marvelling at the gift that wisdom brings with age. Now I look at myself and see mounds of fat. I am not living with integrity.
Recognising that there are issues to work through is one thing. Taking the action necessary is where the hard work begins. Starting over begins by looking inward. Paying attention to the inklings and murmurings. The universe applauds action not thought. Real providence comes from knowing what is the truth of your life. Where everything you do and say every single day shows the world who you are.
That is living with integrity.