My dad lied to me. At 53, a decade after his death, my sister called with news: we had an older half-sister through our father. He and the rest of his generation took this sister's existence to the grave. It is a strange thing to have lived half a century only to discover a stranger's face resembles your father's more than your own. This sister had poolside vacation photos of our father. I found duplicates in my father’s collection of things. That image was all she'd know of him—pictures that would give a facial reference she would look to match with every man in the supermarket or on the sidewalk.
Meanwhile, four hundred miles away, my dad raised me as a single parent after my parents' divorce. He taught me to attend church, love my country, vote conservative, and be morally upright—building my moral framework on what I believed was the truth.
Truth called that day. The fork in the road offered a choice: defend the myth or reflection and insight. I could double down on the folklore of my father's perfection and push this revelation away, or I could walk the alternate path. I chose the path of truth, which ensured short-term discomfort but ultimately led to long-term freedom.
Reflection allowed me to understand I had a newfound sister and an opportunity for love. The insight was that my father had lied. This irrefutable data point shook me to the core. I wanted to embrace my sister while maintaining my father's place on a pedestal. The combination of identity, myth, and implications marshaled forces to resist acceptance. However, I chose to pause to create a protected space for my mind to accept this truth without having to fully understand the implications.
This experience has me reflecting on the importance of pausing. I’ve come to realize:
Human progress requires us to reflect deeply on what we know, rather than simply accepting facts at face value. When new data is presented, there is a need to pause to find the insight. Insights emerge when truth, experience, knowledge, and understanding intersect through reflective work. This is where our humanity is expressed. I have a hunch that the bigger the impact on your identities, the greater the need for an insight pause.
Regarding my father, the insight pause allowed several weeks for the news to settle in as reality. This experience revealed the technique that we use to process brutal truths. I've learned my father's story was complex, and integration of this insight continues.
Insights reveal the previously unknown and deserve space to breathe. Without this protected pause, fear prevents new understanding from taking root. In our information-saturated world, our humanity is revealed through our willingness to sit with uncomfortable truths long enough to find the insights that transform us.
What truth is waiting for you to take an insight pause?