Why Proof Is Not The Truth

Here I was, 20 years ago, standing at the edge of a large Snorkeling boat on the brink of a huge decision.

My heart pounding, palms sweaty, dry mouth and mind racing with the kind of thoughts that try to convince you you're about to make a monumental mistake.

My heart raced with a familiar flow of warnings: "I can't swim well; this is dangerous."

A softer voice whispered, "You can do this."

At that moment, the proof of my limitations clashed with a deeper truth forcing me to see beyond my fears.

Something shifted as I watched everyone ahead of me, including my now-husband, leap into the water carefree.

My usual mantra of "I can't do this" suddenly felt hollow. Their freedom challenged the "proof" that had always held me back. This decision of whether or not to jump in was more than just an action; it was a defiance of the limits I had set for myself.

Ever found yourself at a crossroads, where every sign tells you to back off, but something deep inside nudges you forward? That was me.

This wasn't just about swimming. It was about facing a lifetime of decisions where proof—those hard, cold facts we cling to for safety—clashes with truth, that inherent knowing that challenges us to look beyond our fears.

At that moment, I realized there was something more, and I could almost hear the sound of my restrictive beliefs cracking under the weight of possibility.

Here I was, with my life vest strapped on, on the edge of a boat, debating. The proof was clear; I had never been a strong swimmer, memories of struggling to keep afloat serving as stark reminders of my limitations.

But what about the truth? That with this vest, and surrounded by others, I was safer than my fears would have me believe.

So, I thought, “Screw it!” and I jumped.

The rush of freedom I felt as I fell was beyond words. It caught me off guard and scared my husband, who'd only found out on our way to the sea about my shaky swimming skills and my fear of deep waters.

He had suggested I take the ladder down gently. But my mix of nervous and excited laughter after the jump showed him I was okay, and it turned into one of the best experiences of my life.

This is where our journey begins in this newsletter, in the space between proof and truth, where our fears and our potential lock eyes. It's a place we visit often, not just in stories of adventure but in the quiet, everyday decisions that shape our lives and how we parent.

How many 'truths' do we accept because the 'proof' seems undeniable? And how often does this proof, this so-called evidence, really align with the deeper truths of our hearts and the lessons we hope to pass on to our children?

This journey from proof to truth is one we navigate daily, often unconsciously. It's in the cautionary tales we inherit and the ones we pass down, in the limitations we accept, and in the potential we overlook.

As we peel back the layers of our programmed disbelief, we uncover not just the truths about our fears but about our capacity to redefine them, for ourselves and for our children. This redefinition, this shift from surviving to thriving, starts with distinguishing between what we've been conditioned to prove and what we inherently know to be true.

From the get-go, we're schooled in the art of doubt. It's like we're signed up for a class we never asked for, one that beats in the "Be careful" mantra so much, we start seeing the world as a field of red flags.

This isn't just advice; it becomes our reality, teaching us to pick hard facts over gut feelings, and, without even realizing it, it frames our fears and limits our world.

Take my relationship with water, for example.

I grew up with this deep-seated belief that water was synonymous with danger, a fear not from my own memory but from a story passed down by my mom.

The story of a toddler barely walking—me—who wandered too close to the edge of the deep end of a pool and ended up in the water, saved only by a quick-acting neighbor.

My mom, unable to swim, could only watch in terror.

That story, retold over and over, wasn't just a memory; it was a lesson. But the lesson wasn't about the natural danger of water; it was about the fear instilled by a lack of trust and understanding.

Even after I finally learned how to swim in college, a few years before going snorkeling, the fear persisted.

This path from proof to truth is something we all tread, often without a second thought.

• It's woven into the cautionary stories we inherit.

• The barriers we accept.

• The possibilities we ignore.

But as we start to question these handed-down beliefs, we find not just truths about our fears but also about our ability to overcome them and thrive.

This transformation begins with differentiating the things we've been taught to prove from those we intuitively understand to be true.

Here's what this journey taught me and what I hope to pass on:

1. The Power of Narrative: Our fears are often inherited stories, not truths. Questioning these narratives can change our engagement with the world.

2. Trust vs. Proof: Proof is based on external evidence, often overshadowed by emotion and circumstance. Truth is more intrinsic, requiring us to trust in our abilities and in the natural world.

3. Teaching vs. Transferring Fear: As parents, our instinct is to protect. However, there's a fine line between teaching safety and transferring fear. Recognizing this can empower our children rather than limit them.

4. Learning to Swim: Both literally and metaphorically, learning to swim is about finding the balance between caution and courage, between floating and diving deep.

One day early on in my parenting I was at a pool club, where we had a summer membership. I was alone with my two daughters sitting in a lounge chair with my youngest daughter.

I was happily watching my oldest daughter, not yet swimming, doing her favorite thing at the shallow end of the pool—she would jump up from the bottom of the pool so she could pop up above the water like a cork. Each time yelling and flapping her arms against the water.

Looks fun, right?

But to someone just glancing over, it might look like she’s struggling; like she needs help. And that’s exactly what someone thought.

Out of the blue, this lady, fully dressed from head to toe, comes to my daughter’s rescue and jumps right in to save her. She thought she saw a kid in trouble.

I shout, “Wait! She’s…!” but it's too late; she’s already in the water. My daughter just sidesteps, wondering what all the fuss is about.

The lady gets out, soaking wet, looking a mix of embarrassed and a little pissed at me.

She thought she had all the proof she needed—my kid was “drowning.”

But the truth? My daughter was just fine, loving every minute in her little water world.

“Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it's not there.”

Why We Might Misinterpret Situations:

• Our Reflexive Nature: Designed to protect us and those around us, it sometimes gets ahead of itself, mistaking harmless situations for dangerous ones.

• The Power of Perception: How we perceive a situation can drastically differ from its reality. What one sees as an emergency, another might recognize as play.

Lessons Learned:

1. Gratitude for Community Vigilance: I was deeply touched and grateful to know that we were in a community where people didn't hesitate to help. It was reassuring, even if, in this case, the help wasn't needed.

2. The Importance of Clear Communication and Education: This experience highlighted the need to educate my daughters on swimming. Not only for their safety but to prevent well-intentioned, yet unnecessary, interventions. It was a half-joking, half-serious realization that I owed it to the collective to ensure no false "rescues" occurred in the future.

It can be tricky to tell proof from the truth.

That woman acted on instinct, bless her heart, trying to help based on what she thought was happening.

But she didn’t have the full story. And it’s a solid reminder for all of us that sometimes what we think is happening... isn’t.

Our gut reaction, that urge to leap into action, is strong and usually comes from a good place. But it can get ahead of itself, and make us jump to conclusions.

This whole thing mirrors that time I stood on the edge of a boat, about to jump into the ocean for snorkeling, despite not being able to swim well.

Everyone jumping in before me, my boyfriend waiting in the water—it was like the universe saying, “Hey, your usual excuses won’t work here.”

It was a real moment of truth for me. It challenged my deep-seated fears, my proof that “I can’t swim; this is dangerous,” with a different reality. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this safely, with the right precautions.

So, how do we start seeing beyond our immediate reactions, our so-called proof?

Well, shaking up our usual patterns might just be the key. Doing something out of the ordinary can help crack those biases wide open, giving us a chance to see the real truth hiding behind them.

It's about getting out of our comfort zone, and challenging the usual script. Like me jumping into that water, it was a leap—literally—into rethinking what I thought I knew for sure.

It's in those moments of bold, unexpected action that we find a clearer path to the truth.

How to Disrupt Your Reality of Proof to Get Closer to the Truth

1. Challenge Your "Can'ts": Think about something you always say you can't do. Now, give it a whirl. It's not about nailing it on the first try; it's about challenging the notion that you can't do it at all.

2. Seek New Perspectives: Deliberately expose yourself to ideas and opinions different from your own. It's like trying a new food – you won't know if you like it until you taste it.

3. Embrace the 'Why': Whenever you find yourself accepting something at face value, pause and ask "Why?" This simple question can unravel layers of assumptions, leading you closer to the truth.

4. Take a Different Route: Literally and metaphorically. If you always walk the same path, try a new one. You'll be surprised at what you discover, both around you and about yourself.

5. Journal the Journey: Surprise Yourself: Whenever fear or apprehension creeps in, pause and ask yourself, "What's one thing I could do right now that's completely unexpected?" Sometimes, the best way to challenge your proof is to act in a way that's out of character for you, opening up new possibilities and truths.

6. Let Go of the Outcome: Focus on the process, not the end result. Sometimes, the act of trying something different is more enlightening than whether you succeed or fail.

7. Trust the Process: Believe that every step outside your comfort zone is a step toward a deeper understanding, even if it doesn't feel like it right away. The truth is often found in unexpected places.

After witnessing a woman mistakenly leap into a pool to "save" my daughter—who was, in fact, merely playing—I felt a deep happiness for my daughter who was unfazed by the “dangers” of water and stayed in her “safe zone” of the pool and was living in her glory.

That winter when planning a trip to Mexico with my girls alone, then aged four and six, I enrolled them in four swimming lessons a week. Within weeks, they not only became proficient swimmers but, I watched them diving from pool diving boards with joy and confidence like pros.

The Instructor's Revelation: 

As my daughters were learning to swim I decided to take two lessons a week at the same time. I wanted to get better at swimming before the trip. But at times I felt like I was getting worse.

One day my young swim instructor made a casual observation that struck a chord with me.

After watching me swim, she noted, "Your problem isn't technique; it's all in your mind. You don't trust the water." Her words cut deep, I already had proof of my fear but she helped reveal the big truth behind it —a truth I had been unable to see.

But you what? I might have missed this lesson if I hadn’t been so afraid to be in the water with my children alone, which prompted me to sign them up for lessons so they could “save themselves”.

Instead, their lessons in a way saved me.

Shifting Perspectives: The proof, my ingrained fear of drowning, was a product of a single, albeit traumatic, event. The truth, however, was that water itself wasn't the enemy; my perception of it was. With this new understanding, I took steps to reconcile with the water, to learn not just to swim, but to trust.

Lessons in Parenting:

• Challenge Inherited Fears: You have to critically examine your fears that you can easily pass on to your children, distinguishing between genuine caution and unfounded phobia.

• Encourage Exploration: By fostering an environment of exploration and trust, we empower our children to face life with confidence.

• Embrace Teachable Moments: My daughters' fearless diving into the pool at 4 and 6 years old, and weeks later nearly bottomless cenotes in Mexico served as a powerful lesson in the importance of personal growth and overcoming inherited fears.

In parenting, the distinction between proof and truth is critical. It's not just about guiding our children safely through life but about empowering them to explore, to learn, and to trust—not just in their environment but in themselves.

This journey of overcoming my fear of water, paralleled with my daughters' joy in it, is a reminder:

Often, the proof we cling to can prevent us from seeing the truth that sets us free.

Reflecting on my mother’s experience of my own childhood incident of nearly drowning imprinted a deep fear of water in my mother's heart.

This led to a childhood where "what I couldn't see" beneath the water's surface became a source of terror, a vast unknown to be avoided at all costs. My mother, guided by her protective instincts, inadvertently taught me to fear rather than explore. It was a lesson not just about safety but about limiting exposure to the unknown for the sake of comfort.

• The Impact of Inherited Fears: My mother's response, while rooted in love and protection, also highlighted how easily fear can be passed down. It wasn't just about avoiding water; it was about instilling a broader caution against the unseen and unknown.

• Embracing Visibility and Trust: My journey to actively ensuring my daughters were confident swimmers, was about changing the narrative. It was about moving from fearing "what I couldn't see" to trusting in the buoyancy and beauty of water.

• This shift wasn't just for my daughters but was a healing process for me, revisiting old fears with a new perspective, armed with the understanding that proof of danger is not the same as the truth of being unsafe.

• The Ripple Effect: This wasn't just about swimming. It was a metaphor for life. By addressing my inherited fears and choosing not to pass them on, I opened a world where my daughters could approach challenges with confidence, curiosity, and a clear distinction between proof and truth.

Ever had your child come back and say, “It’s not there” after you told them exactly where to find something?

You know it’s right there in the cabinet, but they swear it’s vanished into thin air. It’s like they decide it’s not there before even looking, proving themselves right, but only in their head.

We all know it’s not just kids (and our husbands) doing this. We all have moments where we’re so sure about something that we don’t really see what’s in front of us. Like, we’re looking but not really looking. Our brains are funny like that; they love to stick to what’s familiar, even if it means missing what’s right under our noses.

So, what do you do? You could fetch it yourself, sure, but there’s a better way. Guide them back to that cabinet and encourage them to take another look, but this time, to really look. It’s not just about finding that missing item; it’s about teaching them—and hey, reminding ourselves too—to keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions.

• The Reflex to Confirm Beliefs: Just like the child convinced the item isn't in the cabinet, we often approach situations with a predetermined outcome in mind. This reflex isn't about truth; it's about aligning our reality with our beliefs or fears, even if it means overlooking the obvious.

• Perception vs. Reality: The insistence that "it's not there" highlights a crucial aspect of human psychology: our perception shapes our reality. In the case of the child, the truth—that the item is indeed in the cabinet—is irrelevant. Their reality, their "proof," is that it's missing because they've convinced themselves it's true.

• The Importance of Guided Discovery: As a parent, the instinct may be to retrieve the item yourself, to prove it's there. However, a more empowering approach is guiding them back, encouraging them to look again, but with open eyes and an open mind. This teaches not only persistence but the ability to challenge and change one's perception, moving closer to truth rather than clinging to false proof.

Question Everything: Don't take proof at face value. Ask why, how, and what if. The truth often lies beneath layers of assumption and superficial evidence.

The truth isn't playing hide and seek;

it's just that our view is often fogged up by our biases, fears, and how cozy we are in our own stories. Finding it is more about us being willing to face those roadblocks than the truth being hard to catch.

Deepen Your Search: True understanding requires more than a quick glance. It demands deep exploration, patience, and the willingness to look again and again.

Embrace Uncertainty: The journey to truth is filled with unknowns. Embrace them. Each question that doesn't have an immediate answer is a step closer to deeper insight.

Using Proof as a Guide:

Understand that proof is a tool, not the end goal. It can mislead or it can enlighten, depending on how we use it. It's our responsibility to sift through the proof, to hold it up to scrutiny, and to allow it to guide us towards the truth, not dictate what we believe.

Finding the truth is an active, ongoing process—a quest that requires us to be both seekers and skeptics. It's about peering into the cabinet one more time, pushing aside what we expect to find, and discovering what's truly there. It's a journey that teaches us not just about the world, but about ourselves.

The truth is rarely handed to us; it's not something we're entitled to without effort. It demands a journey of discovery, a path often littered with proofs that can either mislead or guide us. The distinction is in our ability to discern, to use proof not as a destination but as signposts along the way to deeper understanding.