Hard Things & Humour: Embarrassing Moments

As my introduction, I will tell you about one of my most embarrassing moments. There are many, but we'll start with this one. I've struggled with being brave enough to be my authentic self. And, well, I've just struggled. I will show you all I am in this blog: wisdom, ridiculousness, and everything in between. Humour is my liferaft. It has pulled me from the depths of sorrow. It has soothed me, released my body of tension, and rebooted me to life again. Humour and hope are the two tiers of my survival and triumph. I write this to you.

I was on vacation in the Dominican Republic with my new boyfriend and his family. At 22 years old, I had been toying with going topless, as was acceptable on the beaches there. Even when my boyfriend, Joe, and I were alone on the beach, I was too shy to bare it all. Underage French girls with tiny buds ran around in nothing but their racy thong bottoms. I was never one to be completely confident in my body nor any sort of exhibitionist of my own accord. It would take courage to bare my top half, even on this beach full of strangers. That being said, the idea was thrilling. What stopped me from going through with it was I thought that my boyfriend's family could come down to the beach at any time. I didn't want his brother, or conservative Mennonite-born father, to see my goods. I accepted that this would not be the time to complete this self-dare.

One day, my boyfriend, his father, and I were jumping in the waves. My boyfriend's dad, Gord, was standing about ten feet in front of me. Joe was another ten feet behind him, facing me, and we were splashing and laughing in the rhythmic, lurching sea. Suddenly this look came over Gord's face. His smile melted. He stopped jumping and quickly looked away. In horror, I realized that it was my visage that had caused his reaction. My hands started at the top of my head, franticly feeling for bird poop, boogers, or any other unexpected embarrassment.

As my hands made their way down my face towards my torso, Joe yelled out so all of the tourists could hear, "Hey Leah, your tit's hanging out!" Followed by peals of his laughter echoing off the waves and smacking beachgoers right in the face. I looked down to find my left breast had escaped from my bikini top. It was the pierced one. Face burning with humiliation, I tucked her back in and dejectedly made my way out of the water. I could see the people on the beach averting their eyes from me. When I got back to our spot amidst the beach chairs, Gord was nowhere to be seen. I could only imagine that he had never witnessed such a thing growing up as a Mennonite. I wanted him and his wife, Sandy, to like me so badly, and I was sure my tit popping out wasn't the right method. I was mortified beyond words. I had been so curious about going topless, but be careful what you wish for, was all I could think to myself. Gord didn't look me in the eye for months, or anywhere else for that matter. I can't say I truly minded. Eventually, he became my father-in-law.

Humour grounds us in the moment. It snaps us back into our bodies, into just being. I can recall the feeling when I laughed for the first time after I lost someone I loved. I know what it feels like to have your grieving lips startled by your laughter. It's bittersweet. Waves of release and guilt, vitality and sorrow, battle it out inside you within a microsecond. You may ask yourself, how could I possibly laugh at a time like this? What is wrong with me? This, my friend, is grace. Inside that microsecond, you have been relieved of your pain. Your spirit has lifted and spread, like a bird born free. This is a whisper, telling you that you can go on. That you can feel good things again. That no matter what wounds and scars you bear, you are alive. Laughter is truly the best medicine for the soul. I implore you; if your soul requires a bit of medicine, just think of awkward me, with my bared bejeweled breast in front of my father-in-law-to-be, and let yourself laugh.