Being Known
Who really knows you? The real you—the unpolished, authentic, no-hiding version? Do you have someone who has your back unconditionally? Someone you can bring both the good and the ugly to—who will stay in your corner no matter what?
We often think this person should be our spouse. But if we’re honest, that’s not always the case. I’m a work in progress, and sometimes I’m not completely open about my feelings with my husband. My emotions can be wild, and it’s not always wise—or good for my marriage—to give every thought a voice. As our pastor says, “feelings are terrible compasses.” What I need is someone who encourages me to look more like Jesus in my marriage, in motherhood, and in life. An independent advisor, so to speak.
But I still need safe spaces to process those emotions. I need someone I trust to help me sort through what’s in my head. Someone who supports me and my relationships. Someone who wants the best for me and loves me enough to speak the truth—even when it stings.
Friendships are common. But true intimacy in friendship is rare. The number of people we can truly be ourselves with is usually a very short list.
I didn’t discover that kind of friendship until about 18 years ago. I was sitting at McAlister’s with a friend when, for some reason I still don’t know, I shared my deepest, darkest secret. A secret I carried with shame because it no longer reflected who I was. Tears filled my eyes as I admitted it aloud. And then—she shared her secret with me. There we sat during our work lunch, crying over sweet tea, carrying heavy burdens that suddenly weren’t ours to carry alone anymore. In that moment, our secrets were brought into God’s light. We were no longer alone.
From then until now, Heather has been someone who knows the real me—the good, the great, the absolute crazy, the me I want to be, and the me I still am. Though we only see each other in person once a year (something we need to do better about, since we live just 45 minutes apart), we talk almost every day on Voxer, which keeps us connected.
She listens with a patient, discerning ear. She speaks the truth in love, even when it’s hard to hear. She supports my marriage and gently redirects me when needed so I can reflect Jesus more as a wife and woman.
She is the kind of friend I pray my daughters will have. Our friendship reminds me of the stories of David and Jonathan, Jesus and His closest disciples, and the faithful companions Paul often mentioned—loyal, protective, and encouraging each other in the faith.
But this friendship required vulnerability at the start. I had to take the risk of opening up about the pain I carried. And when I did, I was seen. Just as I was. Broken. And I discovered she was broken too. Yet in that shared honesty, we were no longer alone. God exchanged our ashes for beauty, our mourning for joy.
Because sometimes the deepest longing of the heart is simply this—
to be truly known.