Often, I wake up with a “charged” idea that fermented in my deepest sleep, compelled to write it down to give it further consideration later. These two queries were in line with my interests in psychology and the human condition. I was delighted, like I had received a gift, but not quite sure of what to make of it.

There was no immediate thought of a book. I first thought of the two questions as catchy, succinct lifestyle “prompts,” daily reminders to be kind and honest with oneself and others. That’s it; easy-peasy.

The “combo” of love and authenticity intrigued me. They cover a lot of ground. I pondered how these two might be intertwined, or even stand in opposition. What might be loving for oneself may feel unloving for another, as when a person ends a relationship. Others may be very authentic in their grumpiness or intolerance, for example, but those attributes would not be seen as loving. I thought of Miriam, a person who loved her family but could not confide in them.

I wondered if our most authentic selves are naturally more loving and if love serves as a purifying tonic for greater authenticity. It would also seem that not being authentic is a form of denying and not loving oneself.

I recognized that for some, being their most authentic and loving self may subject them to discrimination or other harms that are not loving.

More so, I thought of the Miriam story and part of my own life when I had a distinct personal transformation years before I met her. A deeper dive was likely necessary for these questions.

In my mid-thirties, I experienced a catharsis, releasing a torrent of grief. I was overwhelmed in a manner disproportionate to triggering events. I felt so horrible!

It was a visceral experience as if sadness was a tar exiting through every pore of my body, every exhale, a fog of misery. The grief was condensed, concentrated. I bawled like a baby. There was part of me fighting against what was happening. There was also an intuitive push, telling me to: Purge, Baby, Purge!

Whew! I lost ten pounds in one week. I could not sleep. I ended up in the hands of a capable counselor. In summary, “loss events” served as triggers to release pent-up grief from my father’s death when I was eleven years old! I had told my counselor about having flashback memories of my father’s funeral as I sat in traffic.

It made sense, and I opened up more, releasing grief in a less resistant manner. My counselor helped me with getting into a stance of letting go and allowing the expression of what had been repressed. This would prove to be a valuable skill.

I would come to know I had started a process that was completely changing me as a person. As one example, I had long been a frequent user of marijuana and a binge drinker of alcohol, but within a year of this “purge,” I stopped. I didn’t declare myself sober or abstinent, or put much thought into it. I just had no calling to partake.

I remember one friend saying, “We want the old you back” (to party). That “old me” never came back. I had changed.

I previously presented as extroverted. Outwardly, I had been hard-charging and outgoing. I had rapidly advanced in my career in local government. My social life was active. I burnt the candle at both ends.

I became introverted, introspective, and calm. I took up meditation of my own accord. A fundamental shift had transpired.

Unbeknownst to me, I had been carrying around a truckload of unprocessed grief for twenty-five years before rapidly dispensing that cargo. Miriam was a step ahead of where I had been, as she could vocalize her experience. I had zero idea that I had stuff I’d stashed away.