The lens we choose to look through

The lens we choose to look at the world through shapes our reality. The challenging part is that sometimes we don't even realize the lens we're looking through is distorted.

We are born with our own unique energy, our own way of experiencing life. Then the world arrives with its programming and conditioning, which convinces us to see ourselves and others through lenses that were never designed for our eyes. Then the trauma completely distorts our viewpoint, creating confusion that becomes so real that it feels like the truth. Over time, we stop questioning it. We simply assume what we see is reality.

But the truth is, it isn’t.

One of the biggest lenses I have had to navigate in my lifetime was the lens through which I viewed my father. When he passed away 11 years ago, I eventually found peace. I found forgiveness. I even tattooed a feather on my wrist to represent that journey.

But the pain of the little girl who believed her father didn't choose her, didn't love her enough, or didn't want to be part of her life was very real. Real to my heart, real to my body. My nervous system created patterns that at the time protected me, but as I healed, I had to unravel them piece by piece.

I have always known my father struggled. I knew he was a Vietnam veteran. I knew he battled PTSD and mental illness. Knowing those facts, however, didn't automatically change the lens through which I viewed our relationship.

This weekend, I received a newspaper article written about him in 1982. As I read his words, I wasn't just reading about my father. I was meeting a young man carrying more pain than I had ever understood. A young man in survival mode, just trying to face each day.  A man haunted by memories he couldn't escape. A young man whose nervous system never truly made it home from war.

The article gave me a glimpse into a darkness I had never fully seen.

Since his passing, many people have shared stories about his kindness, his gentleness, and his heart. Those weren't the parts of him I experienced. My own pain was too loud. My own lens was too distorted to see beyond the hurt.

Reading this article didn't erase my experience, but it did expand my perspective and deepen my understanding of my lenses. I can honor the pain I experienced while also holding compassion for the pain he carried.

This is one of the reasons I teach so often about the lenses through which we experience life.

How many times have you heard someone's words but interpreted them through an old wound?

How many times have you assumed someone's actions meant one thing when they were carrying a completely different story?

How often do we react not from truth, but from the lens of our own hurt?

The older I get, the more I realize we cannot change anyone's perspective or the stories they tell themselves. All we can do is make sure we are looking through the accurate lens and take a pause to try to look through someone else’s.

This article gave me a deeper understanding of my father's lens.

It is a reminder that every person we meet is carrying a story we cannot see.

And sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is the willingness to pause and ask:

What if there is more to this story than the version I have been telling myself?

Healing begins the moment we realize that the lens we've been looking through isn't the only one available.