Hard Truth 211: The Protective Chocolate Outer Coating

When I was a kid, I loved Twinkies. Or, whatever off-brand rendition of the cream cake that happened to be in our pantry at any given time. They were teeny, tiny, hand-sized cello-wrapped bits of happiness.

And they were yellow. I liked things that were yellow.

One day, my overactive imagination took its usual course and convinced me that the minute I opened the Twinkie, germs would immediately get sucked into the yellow spongy goodness, rendering that greasy, creamy center just a blob of bacteria waiting to infiltrate my body.

Which is why I stopped eating Twinkies and switched to Ding Dongs. Because they had a protective outer chocolate coating to keep the germs from laying waste to my snack cake.

A) I know the above is shitty logic and not at all biologically/scientifically sound

and

B) Today’s hard truth is about the protective chocolate outer coating.

On Thursday, my birthday, my day started off grand. And then, it slid off the rails. My phone rang, a conversation ensued, tears rolled, my heart sank.

Fuck, fuck, and fuckity.

Not only was it my birthday — but I had a class to get to and that class meant I had to be emotionally present and I had to get my gods to daycare and the guy staying at my house had lost his set of keys and it was my last fucking set of spare keys and this call was just eating me alive and I hadn’t showered and goddammit. Seriously?

Me: THIS IS HAPPENING NOW?

Universe: Yeah. Was this not convenient for you?

Me: NO. NOT IN THE SLIM-ASS SLIGHTEST.

Universe: Oopsie. I’m going to go get some coffee. You want?

Me: (yes)

In-con-fucking-venient. That was my morning on December 10, 2015.

There was a part of me that had broken. A part filled with hope. A part that was sad and remorseful and the part that had to get the dogs dealt with and .

So, I did what I always do: I put on my protective chocolate outer coating and I took the dogs to daycare. I made a call to attempt to sort some shit out. I put on some clothes, threw some dry shampoo in my hair, and I called a taxi to take me to class because I was fucking late.

Well, Thursday got sorted out. But then there was still Friday to go to. A second day of my acting Master Class (easiest way to describe it) and this meant I had to be on my shit because our coaches don’t pull punches — and don’t expect us to, either.

And 3/4 of the way through class, I broke down. I was so goddamned frustrated because I was stuck between what I was doing and what I wanted to be doing.

I was stuck in my protective chocolate outer coating — the coating I put on when everything isn’t good but I need to show the world everything is good even though it’s not.

Because here’s one truth: when it’s your birthday and people start asking you how your day is going, no one wants to hear that it’s kind of a shit show.

That’s because when people ask you how you are, they don’t want to know the truth. And so over the years, our chocolate outer coating gets thicker and thicker. With every ounce of Life Bullshit that waltzes in, we pour another ladle of chocolate on our protective outer coating.

The world sees Lindt.

We, in the meantime, feel pain.

And unless we find a safe place to bust that shell open (remember Magic Shell? OMG OMG OMG), it just keeps building up.

The ME that people SEE versus the ME I want to BE.

Pretty truffle in a glass display case versus the gooey, hot mess of a human in the center.

Perfectly shaped, artificially-flavored, “chocolate”-coated Ding Dong, questionable creamy contents inside.

My art — my performing and writing — are my safe place. They’re where I get to be messy. Me. They’re the last place I have to apologize, even when people get offended by something I’ve said (which happens pretty much every day I dare hit the “publish” button).

Where’s your safe place?

Where’s the place where you can let go of everything you’re supposed to do and feel and say (your protective chocolate outer coating) and just…be the ooey, gooey, and highly suspect cream filling?

And on Friday, that place was my Master Class.

And after the meltdown happened, I was so…drained. Physically, emotionally. And that’s normal.

Because it’s tough fucking work to carry around that heavy as hell chocolate shell all the time. When it falls away, you feel lighter — because you are lighter. And I don’t know about you, but I want a nap. A glass of wine and a nap. Because sleeping with the shell on is hard work, too.

It’s taken me a long time to realize that I actually HAVE a protective chocolate outer coating (PCOC). I just thought that was me.

But it wasn’t.

Once I realized I had the PCOC, I started learning why it was useful. Because the truth is that not everyone needs nor deserves access to your ooey, gooey hot mess of a center. The folks in the boardroom or on the conference call or checking you out at the supermarket don’t need the ooey, gooey center most of the time.

But we all need a safe place to let that PCOC fall away and just…be honest. Not apologize. (If you’re new here, I did a whole TEDx talk on the subject. Drink moderately and watch that here.)

So today, maybe ask yourself how thick that PCOC of yours is and whether it’s in need of a good smack with a spoon.

Because, baby — you don’t have to always be That Person.

It’s okay to be You. And in fact, You are a whole lot more interesting — your hot, messy, gooey and weird inside — than anything coated in chocolate, shielding itself from the Real Shit of the world any day.

A bit about your PCOC (protective chocolate outer coating)
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or

Something about Twinkies and Ding Dongs and why we don’t let the world see our ME.
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