Vulnerability - A Trust Fall

Vulnerability

A Trust Fall

Hi, internet.

It’s been a while. Each time I’ve sat down to write this post, my eagerness to share my experience and thoughts on vulnerability have been met with so much reluctance, just like when I first shared my thoughts on journaling. It makes sense. I feel so damn good when I’m writing for myself, but each moment I remember that more eyes will see this than my own, I feel panicky. It’s a leap of faith, a self-confidence. Which leads me to my first point…

Vulnerability - a terrifying topic for me. I’ve spent hours upon hours kicking around ideas on what it means to be vulnerable - sinking my teeth into Brené Brown books and podcasts, meditation, having long (incredible) conversations with close friends and loved ones, journaling, taking my sweet time in heart-opening yoga poses like camel or reclined bound angle (we hold a lot of tension in our chest). I’ve tried everything under the sun (and the astrological stars) to wring vulnerability out of me both emotionally and physically, and I can’t tell you it’s all been peachy.

I started therapy when I was six. My parents did my brother and I a solid through their separation by signing us up with a clinical psychologist to ensure we were emotionally in-check. He and I would do the appointments together, where we were encouraged to share, and then rewarded for our time. It wasn’t, by any means, a fun day at the beach during these sessions, but it taught me how to process emotions and thoughts through conversation. That being said, I also believe it may have created a bad, protective habit. An inauthentic reason to share, to open up, to soften. If I tell you what’s going on with me, I’ll get candy, yes?

Because of this “bad habit,” I’ve had no problem at all sharing personal stories about my life with old and new friends, telling someone I love them, chatting about a difficult time. Regurgitating the same things I spoke of in therapy with humans I actually cared about was a cake walk. I believed I was a-ok with vulnerability because of how great I was at sharing, how easy it was for me. It wasn’t until a few years ago, during a journaling workshop, that I realized how mistaken I was. It feels as though I have been wearing a thick, protective layering all of these years and, since that realization, I am slowly peeling it off.

Vulnerability is a challenging topic for me to articulate, and an even tougher one to share. I’m all over the place with how I feel, invariably second-guessing what I’m trying to say here. I’m not an expert by any means, but I am hoping that this may reach someone who might be able to relate and take even the smallest piece away with them. (If all else fails, at least a more positive piece of content will feed the internet, contributing to the drowning-out of POTUS Twitter rants.) With that, here’s what I’ve learned:

“Vulnerable is ultimately derived from the Latin noun vulnus also known as ‘wound.’ ‘Vulnus’ led to the Latin verb vulnerare, meaning ‘to wound.’ (Merriam-Webster.com)”

When I saw the literal definition of the word, I cried from laughing so hard. When I searched for synonyms, I was on the floor. “Endangered, Exposed, Liable, Open, Sensitive, Subject (to), Susceptible.” I was fully under the impression that I had this incredible “come-to-Moses“ moment when realizing that vulnerability wasn’t just the ability to share information or stories, but to do so when there is risk involved, when your heart is on the line, when you could potentially be wounded, endangered, exposed, and so on... It took me so long to understand this, when little ol’ Merriam had it up her sleeve since she established in 1828. Wonderful. To give myself some grace, if I had read this definition prior to November of 2018, it wouldn’t have clicked. Nothing else did until I was willing and able to let it in.

It Starts With You. The journaling workshop was my first a-ha! moment with true vulnerability in my adult life. We went through a series of prompts and discussions that unveiled some emotions and feelings I had ignored and buried at the time. I wasn’t being honest with myself, and the cathartic process of putting pen to paper with open-ended questions revealed that very clearly to me. I got to work. I started digging deeper, journaling relentlessly, meditating, asking questions, listening inward, and ultimately, creating space. I even started seeing a psychologist out of my own free will! My mind was fully occupied by who and what I thought I was, who and what I wanted to be, who and what I was not. I was lacking true authenticity. I was protecting myself for fear of others’ opinions, of my own insecurities. I needed to rid my mind of the noise, to make room to sit with myself, to show up vulnerable and real. My favorite yoga instructor, Rebekah, recently said “we are all perfect, we just forget.” I absolutely forgot.

This process has taken and will continue to take time. Learning about your most authentic self isn’t as easy as it might sound, but it is so important (and rewarding) to explore. Once I made the conscious choice to lean in, some pretty magical feelings came up:

Journal Entry, October 6, 2019

Do you ever experience a feeling that you completely forgot existed? Maybe it’s been decades since you first felt it, maybe you’ve only felt it once before and can vaguely remember, maybe you’ve only felt a fraction of it. Like the first time you knock the wind out of your lungs from falling off the monkey bars or the first time you get butterflies that tickle the inside of your belly from interacting with a certain human. Having rare experiences and taking the time to reflect on them creates allllll the magic, and I kind of feel like a little kid again.

Once I developed an understanding of the importance of self-exploration and vulnerability, I felt medium-ready to take it on a test drive with other humans. It was a scary concept to grasp once I could fully comprehend what I had to do in order to live authentically with myself and others. Words like “courage,” “risk,” and “fear” come to mind. I continued to listen. I tuned-in to how I showed up with friends and family, started to frame dating a bit differently, even decided to have more tough conversations at work and in my yoga classes. Stories that were typically easy to share went to the back-burner, to the forefront came conversations like this, and as a result - a higher self-worth, deeper relationships, and more meaningful connections.

Sounds amazing, right? Like I found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? I did. Vulnerability, more often than not, can immediately feel extremely rewarding. Deeper laughs, meaningful conversations, warm hugs. But sometimes, peeling back the protective layer doesn’t always work in your immediate favor, and you only feel the real benefit to your softening later down the line.

Several months back I had an experience where I really opened up to someone, an active and far from effortless choice on my part. I showed up as my most authentic self. I said and did everything that scares me. I played my ukulele and sang, I was open and honest, I melted into a puddle. I was scared shitless that I wouldn’t be met halfway…and then I wasn’t. I instantly regretted opening up. My heart felt achy. I still have a hard time sitting with it, but the reality of it is, if I hadn’t opened up, I wouldn’t have laughed until my belly hurt, I wouldn’t have sang, I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know this amazing human on a deeper level, and I wouldn’t have shown up authentically.

I’ve slowly learned that it doesn’t matter how many Brené Brown books I read or how many podcasts I listened to. Vulnerability didn’t have the ability to manifest itself until I was ready to let it in. First, with introspection, self-love, and awareness. Then, with others - call it trial and error. Don’t get me wrong, I’m eager and anxious to re-read all of Brené’s books now, but I had to be willing to “get in the arena” to fight my insecurities before I was able to truly receive her words. I had to un-learn my bad habits. I had to be okay with rejection of any shape or form. I had to be willing to catch myself, and to allow others the opportunity to catch me.

I had to learn how to trust fall.

Xx,
Rach