Chapter 11: On Vulnerability

Being vulnerable is hard.  I’ve been thinking about vulnerability a lot lately—what it means to open myself to others in a space of honesty and integrity. I’ve been pondering how to be my true self, without any masks. Really, if I’m being honest, this is not a new journey for me. I have been striving for authenticity my entire life. I want to be someone that is true to herself and who shares that self with others in real and intimate ways. But lately it just feels hard.  Really hard.  And I’ve been feeling a bit bad about myself because as a card-carrying perfectionist, I feel like it should be so easy to be vulnerable. I should be good at it by now because I try so hard to be open and honest and true.  But no matter how long I’m on this journey, it’s never totally easy to be myself.  Why is that? Why is being my honest-to-goodness true self so stinking difficult?

As a lover of words, I decided to look up the definition of vulnerable.  The good news is I feel a lot better about thinking vulnerability is so difficult.  The bad news is that vulnerable is defined as “capable or susceptible to being wounded or hurt.”  Well that sounds terrible. No wonder I struggle (and I suspect others do as well) to be so open and honest about myself.  Because when we are honest, we might get wounded or hurt and that does not sound very appealing. Yet, if we are going to fully engage in life and be present to our work and our relationships then we have to enter a space of vulnerability.  Without vulnerability, we risk being fake or shallow or simply untrue to the core of who we are.  Brené Brown, one of my favorite gurus has researched and written extensively on vulnerability.  She says, “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”  I’m struck by this contradictory idea that it is only by digging into the darkness that we experience the light. It’s only by acknowledging our weaknesses, our failings, and our struggles that we can know the beautiful gift of who we are.  To be vulnerable is not a weakness but rather the only way to become truly strong and to be in true connection with others.

I think about and reflect upon about my perfectionist nature a lot. It’s a little thorn in my side and has been for as long as I can remember.  My desire to be perfect, to be the best at everything, is a fruitless attempt. I know that I can never actually be the best at everything and yet somehow this little voice inside me urges me to try harder, to be better, and to work more.  This little voice is not always a terrible thing, as it often challenges me to be the best version of myself and helps me strive to make myself and the world better.  The problem is not striving for excellence. The problem is when I start to believe that unless I reach excellence I am not okay. The problem is when I begin to think that unless I present the most perfect version of myself I am not loveable.  The problem is when I believe my self-worth is tied up in what others think of me or how I did on my last run or whether my parents are disappointed in me or whether my friends think I’m making good choices or whether my coworkers thinks I’m competent.  The problem is when I believe I am only loveable when I am successful or funny or smart.  You can see why vulnerability can be so hard. Because if I’m going to truly be open and honest about who I am, to myself and those I am in relationship with, then I’m going to have to share all of me—even the parts that aren’t so pretty.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see why people struggle with vulnerability.  That level of honesty and openness is scary, and it takes courage to acknowledge the darkness as much as the light.  Boldly announcing that I am not good at things. That I’m scared a lot. That I’m worried I’m not actually that smart. That I am a pretty slow runner. That I sometimes don’t feel like being outgoing. That I get really angry and really sad.  That I’m nervous about new things and am afraid of the unknown.  That I feel anxiety about silly things.  That I am emotional and loud and expressive. These pieces of me are not pieces I love to share with others. BUT they are a part of me. I can’t be Meghan unless I share these pieces along with all the things I love about myself.

As an incredibly outgoing, intuitive, extroverted, feeler, I am vulnerable about 98% of my life. I wish I had a poker face, but I really don’t even know what that means. I wear my heart on my sleeve, well, really on my face.  And there are moments when I feel like I’m my authentic self, and I’m literally terrified that whomever I’m with will walk away because they won’t like what they see. That’s the risk every single time we open our hearts and our souls to another—that we might get hurt. Yet, for as much of a struggle as it is, I don’t know how else to live.  Choosing not to be vulnerable may seem like the safer choice, but I’m pretty sure it’s no way to live. Without vulnerability, we would all live on the surface, never really knowing one another and certainly never knowing ourselves.  I choose to be vulnerable even though it’s scary. I choose to be my true and imperfect self even when I wish I was perfect. I choose to be the most authentic person I can be even if that means people see my warts and weaknesses. In the end, I don’t know another way to live or love.  It’s not always easy to be comfortable in my own skin and to vulnerably share who I am with others, but I take small steps each day.

I think today, I will remember that I’m not perfect AND I’m loveable.

It’s a start.

Chapter 7: The Fear

When I was a sophomore in high school, I took a class about social justice which impelled me to sign up for a cultural immersion trip to Honduras.  Along with six other students and two faculty members, I would travel to our sister school in El Progreso. This trip would allow me to experience something completely outside of my comfort zone, as it would shine a light on immense poverty in another part of the world.  We were not the first group to make this journey, and I had heard from others what a transformative experience it would be.  People talk about being “called” to do something and this was the first time I really remember feeling that sensation. So I decided I would go. There was only one teeny tiny problem. I hated and actively avoided being away from home overnight.  I was the child who hated sleepovers, never went to summer overnight camp, and was homesick even when spending the night at my grandparents’ house.  Arguably traveling to another country for ten days would be tricky.  Allow me to share a conversation with my father when I told him about this decision:

Me: I am going to Honduras!

Dad: (pause) Oh. Um.  Well you know I can’t pick you up from there right?

Clearly, certain crucial details had slipped my mind.  In the end, I decided I was meant to go on this trip, and I would go despite my fears about being homesick.  And I’d like to say that I never experienced a bit of homesickness or fear during my time in Honduras but that would be a fat lie. I was scared about 94% of the trip. Being away from home, the poverty I saw, and the stark difference from anything I was used to made me feel alone and uncertain.  It was a really scary, albeit beautiful, ten days in my life.

Fear is not a fun emotion to feel. In fact, I would argue it’s my least favorite emotion. For me, fear can be paralyzing and can lead me to say and do ridiculous things. Fear has kept me from trying new things and it has prevented me, at times, from being my authentic self.  Fear can be a real motivator but paradoxically it can also keep us from moving to where we really want to be.  I ran across a quote this week that I love:

“No passion so effectively robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.” (Edmund Burke)

This so aptly describes how I feel when I’m scared. I lose the ability to think clearly. I can’t act because I’m paralyzed with worry. Fear has literally robbed me at times and left me feeling as though I can’t breathe. And sometimes I feel like I’m afraid of everything. I am afraid of little things like disappointing my boss at work and big things like someone kidnapping me while I’m out running. I’m afraid that those I love will leave. I’m afraid that I’m not good enough. I’m afraid of being a failure.  I’m afraid of being complacent. I’m afraid of possums.  I’m afraid of leaving this life without any legacy. I’m afraid of not living up to my potential. I’m afraid I’m not compassionate enough. I’m afraid of heights.  Sometimes I feel like the world is a really scary place and that my fear is warranted. Other times I wonder why I allow my mind to be robbed by so much fear.

As someone who believes deeply in the importance of self-awareness, I have engaged my fears a lot in my life.  I have looked at why I worry, over-analyze, and think too much. What I’ve discovered is that when I begin to let my brain run crazy into the future, I tend to feel very uncertain which leads to deep amounts of fear. Being in the unknown is truly difficult for me. I enjoy planning and structure and knowing what is next. But life isn’t always like that. And sometimes, even when we are most afraid, we simply have to trust that it will be okay and focus on the moment at hand instead of planning three years ahead.

When I went to Honduras, I knew it was the right thing to do. And it was terrifying.  When I left my first college only eight weeks into the semester because I made the wrong choice, I was so scared of what was next.  When I decided to stop teaching high school theology and embark on a new career, I was afraid.  When I have ended unhealthy relationships or experienced heartache, the unknown was excruciating. But in each of these moments, I took a deep breath and chose myself instead of my fear. I trusted that I was capable even when I was scared shitless. I trusted that I could move through uncertainty and doubt and fear and come out on the other side. I’ve heard it said that bravery isn’t an absence of fear but being scared and doing whatever needs to be done anyway. I like to think that at least in this way I am brave.

When I’m most scared, I forget about all these experiences where I stood my ground and let go of the fear inside of me.  I forget that I am capable and competent and good. It is in these moments that I need to stop and breathe and really remember that being afraid is not a bad thing but it doesn’t have to define me or the moments of my life.  I get to choose how I live in this life and how I react to the things that scare me. I get to decide how to conquer these fears. I get to make the choice to not let my fears define me.  There are so many things I want to do in this life and they require me to love and live fearlessly.  When I went to Honduras I knew in my deepest gut that it was the right choice and that despite my fears, I knew I would regret not taking this opportunity.  This is how I want to live my life.  I want to have the courage to honor what scares me but to move forward boldly anyway.  Because in the end, I only get this one, crazy wild life, and I want to know that I lived each moment grounded in the courage to be my very best self.