What If Contradiction Belongs?

Have you ever used a word and had no idea where it came from—in fact, you’re not even sure it’s a word?

Dour.

“I am in a dour mood,” I told the trees on my morning walk.

And then I went on to ask them, “Is that even a word?”

LOL. Yes, I’m crazy, and that’s okay.

Buckle up, buttercup. You’re coming with me to explore what else came from that morning conversation.

Dour is an adjective that means stern, unyielding, or gloomy in appearance and manner.

I was gloomy the morning this word came to me.

The world feels fucking heavy.

But within thirty minutes, I was talking to the two old oak trees, looking at how the stars twinkled between their branches and marveling at the beauty of the world.

Another few blocks and I was delighted by crows, trees, wet earth, clouds, Moon’s swagger, and a slug with a very handsome shell that I added the song “I’m Sexy and I Know It” to a GIF later that morning.

Neither experience erased the other.

Girl, you are a walking, talking contradiction.

Dourful and Delightful.

I know dourful is not a word, but neither is wrongable, and I’ve been using that one since Life Coaching school in 2008.

We don’t often use contradiction when considering ourselves. It’s normally an external consideration.

Other people, companies, politicians, religions—they contradict themselves.

But never us.

Hahaha. If only…

Nothing makes me happier than providing space, either physical or mental. And I think exploring contradiction on a personal level can give us space to consider where we contradict ourselves.

What might that look like?

Have you ever heard the phrase “a thin line between love and hate”?

Well, have you ever known you love someone but hated them at the same time?

C’mon. Be honest.

Hate would probably be better described as anger, maybe frustration. But still, arguably, they’re at opposite ends of a spectrum, like dour and delight.

Let’s go with Love and Anger.

It sounds like a contradiction, and openly exploring it as such can help us understand love better.

Love doesn’t dissolve with anger or even hate.

Love is love.

Love and…always.

What are some other contradictions we could consider?

I am a follower of Jesus and… I rage against the church.

I am a nurturer and caretaker and… mess with someone I love and I turn unrecognizable.

I love people and… I love being alone.

What’s fascinating is it’s all of me.

It’s me as a whole.

Wholeness permits contradiction. Practically invites it.

What about you?

Can you identify contradiction in yourself?

For more than sixteen years, I worked with some of the brightest women I have ever met who were concerned about their drinking.

They were smart, successful women with full lives, friends, families, careers, responsibilities—and this one habit had captured an enormous amount of their attention.

So we got curious.

Not, How do we get you to control this?

But, What can this tell us?

What happens at the end of the day that has you reaching for a drink?

What does drinking give you?

What might it be preventing?

If the drinking itself isn’t causing significant problems in your life, why does controlling it matter so much to you?

And one of my favorites: What would you do if you didn’t drink?

We didn’t need to make drinking good or bad.

Drinking gave us information.

Not drinking gave us information.

Either way, there was something to notice.

The goal wasn’t to resolve the contradiction so she could become a more consistent version of herself. It was to stay curious enough to discover what else might be there.

Maybe that’s true of more than drinking.

What if anger doesn’t contradict love but gives us more information about what matters?

What if tenderness doesn’t contradict fierceness?

What if wanting connection and wanting to be left the hell alone can both be true?

Maybe we don’t have to decide which one is the real us.

Maybe we can simply notice.

I am. And…

I think it’s the contradictions that can help us, if we’re willing to see ourselves as whole and fluid rather than labeled and fixed.

Today, I am living the argument.

If Teresa has decided she is love and light, then rage becomes threatening.

If Teresa has decided she is fierce, tenderness becomes threatening.

If Teresa is reserved, squealing becomes inconsistent.

If Teresa is professional, playfulness becomes inappropriate.

If Teresa is Christian, anger at the church becomes suspect.

If Teresa is kind, a cutting tongue has to be denied.

Unless…

I am. And…

I am love and light. And I rage.

I am fierce. And tender.

I am reserved. And sometimes I squeal.

I am professional. And playful.

I follow Jesus. And I rage against the church.

I am kind. And sometimes my tongue cuts.

None of these requires exile.

This isn’t necessarily about fixing anything.

It’s about integrating all of hers—the contradictions, phases, experiences, and moments that have contributed to this one life.

The dour woman and the delighted woman.

The loving woman and the angry woman.

The fierce woman and the tender woman.

A thread runs through it.

Same woman.

Same life.

Same heart.

That’s wholeness showing up again.

Not consistent woman.

Whole woman.