&%^$#!
That's what I think when I think of vulnerability.
I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately. And talking about it with a few close friends. And reading books about other people dealing with it. And recently I've had some time to try to process a few of these things and write them down. And so here they are before I change my mind about sharing my thoughts for everyone to read because of my fears about what people will think about me when I say what I think.
I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately. And talking about it with a few close friends. And reading books about other people dealing with it. And recently I've had some time to try to process a few of these things and write them down. And so here they are before I change my mind about sharing my thoughts for everyone to read because of my fears about what people will think about me when I say what I think.
Vulnerability. Even the word just sounds scary. I'm the one much more likely to take deliberate steps that allow me to control what others know and think about me. The idea that giving up that control could ever be a good thing was a new and foreign idea to me. But I was curious. Because somewhere in me I knew my life tactic of never letting anyone have an effect on me that I couldn't control wasn't really working either.
So what do you do? What do you do when you’re trying to stay calm and be in control because you've always thought that is what you have to do, but still you find yourself caught in the middle of conflict, or accusations, or uncomfortable interactions with other people?
In these situations, my mind races back and forth thinking about what to do and how to react, with each contract-and-relax pulse of my rapidly-increasing heartbeat. Be nice, be calm, breathe, don't over-react, don’t let what you’re thinking show on your face. But between each attempt at a reaction that is well-controlled and wisely thought out are the raw-emotion responses that I’ve trained myself so well to suppress. Do you realize what you’re saying? What are you talking about? You make no sense. I don't understand you. And, you're wrong.
It's hard to admit what I mean person I can be on the inside. But since that's what Jesus always spoke directly to, the root issues of the heart, and since He was known for discrediting all efforts to make yourself look good and put together on the outside, I know continuing to pretend I don't think these things isn't hidden from Him, the One who really matters. As much as I have tried to simply will myself not think these things, and to just "be better," I've found that this doesn't actually work very well.
Anyway, while these thoughts are racing around in my mind, the external end result is usually shut down mode. Abort mission, I want out. “Ok, yes, got it, I understand that that is how you feel." All the while thinking, I do NOT want to deal with this right now. Make it stop. Say any response that will get me out of this volatile place of emotions that I feel like I can’t control.
Possibly one of the most frustrating things in these situations is when all of my attempts to be calm and take deep breaths and respond in an understanding way, even though I don’t feel like it, aren’t acknowledged. Instead, I’m blamed for hiding my “true feelings” or not being genuine. Yes, I know I’m not saying what I really feel. And it’s because I really do think that it’s for everyone’s benefit. Because what is the other option? Me reacting in a backlash statement that I’m going to regret and have to apologize for? Something that I can never take back and that can be used against me forever? Definitely not. Wrestling with my emotions inside my head is messy enough. Surely hiding them in the safe confines of my mind is where they should stay.
It's hard to admit what I mean person I can be on the inside. But since that's what Jesus always spoke directly to, the root issues of the heart, and since He was known for discrediting all efforts to make yourself look good and put together on the outside, I know continuing to pretend I don't think these things isn't hidden from Him, the One who really matters. As much as I have tried to simply will myself not think these things, and to just "be better," I've found that this doesn't actually work very well.
Anyway, while these thoughts are racing around in my mind, the external end result is usually shut down mode. Abort mission, I want out. “Ok, yes, got it, I understand that that is how you feel." All the while thinking, I do NOT want to deal with this right now. Make it stop. Say any response that will get me out of this volatile place of emotions that I feel like I can’t control.
Possibly one of the most frustrating things in these situations is when all of my attempts to be calm and take deep breaths and respond in an understanding way, even though I don’t feel like it, aren’t acknowledged. Instead, I’m blamed for hiding my “true feelings” or not being genuine. Yes, I know I’m not saying what I really feel. And it’s because I really do think that it’s for everyone’s benefit. Because what is the other option? Me reacting in a backlash statement that I’m going to regret and have to apologize for? Something that I can never take back and that can be used against me forever? Definitely not. Wrestling with my emotions inside my head is messy enough. Surely hiding them in the safe confines of my mind is where they should stay.
Except that all the things I keep stuffed inside me and try to bury can never be resolved or dealt with by keeping them all to myself. And "all to myself" is kind of a lonely and sometimes very overwhelming place to be. I guess that is a problem. Oh, the process of learning.
So yes. In trying to understand how to respond to these things, I’ve been reading some good books about others who have walked and are walking the path of messy vulnerability.
In her book Rising Strong, Brené Brown defines vulnerability as neither winning nor losing. "It's having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it's our greatest measure of courage." (What!? No one ever told me that. Being emotional is a sign of vulnerability, and vulnerability is weakness. Avoid at all costs. Right?)
She also writes about the hard truth of being brave by putting ourselves out there. Something I feel like I knew but didn't want to admit. "We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can't have both. Not at the same time."
So her advice? "Give yourself permission to feel emotion, get curious about it, pay attention to it, and practice. This work takes practice. Awkward, uncomfortable practice." Darn. I thought there'd be some easier way around this, where I don't have to get it wrong first. But, the good stuff? You might be the first person in your life to grant yourself the permission to experience emotion. If you're worried this permission to experience and engage with emotion that will turn you into someone you're not or don't want to become (is she reading my mind?) - it won't. It will, however, give you the opportunity to be your most authentic self.
In his book "Scary Close", Don Miller talks about a list he made in order to help him live a vulnerable life and avoid playing it safe:
So yes. In trying to understand how to respond to these things, I’ve been reading some good books about others who have walked and are walking the path of messy vulnerability.
In her book Rising Strong, Brené Brown defines vulnerability as neither winning nor losing. "It's having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it's our greatest measure of courage." (What!? No one ever told me that. Being emotional is a sign of vulnerability, and vulnerability is weakness. Avoid at all costs. Right?)
She also writes about the hard truth of being brave by putting ourselves out there. Something I feel like I knew but didn't want to admit. "We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can't have both. Not at the same time."
So her advice? "Give yourself permission to feel emotion, get curious about it, pay attention to it, and practice. This work takes practice. Awkward, uncomfortable practice." Darn. I thought there'd be some easier way around this, where I don't have to get it wrong first. But, the good stuff? You might be the first person in your life to grant yourself the permission to experience emotion. If you're worried this permission to experience and engage with emotion that will turn you into someone you're not or don't want to become (is she reading my mind?) - it won't. It will, however, give you the opportunity to be your most authentic self.
In his book "Scary Close", Don Miller talks about a list he made in order to help him live a vulnerable life and avoid playing it safe:
Those are brave but scary words, and I currently find myself at a place of considering if those things he calls "freedoms" are worth the risk.
Slowly, I’m getting to the point of acknowledging and paying attention to those things called emotions that come and go throughout my day, rising up in my heart - subtle, internal responses to conversations and relationships and events that often seemingly come from nowhere. I'm learning to remember to ask, "Why am I feeling like this?" instead of dismissing the feeling as irrelevant. And I’m learning, with bittersweet submission, to be okay with the struggle. To accept that I will be misunderstood by others and that I don't often know why I feel things or how to communicate them or even what to do about the nudges of annoyance, sadness, excitement, frustration, anxiety, stress, and happiness that I do feel.
I know without a doubt that all of these things would leave me drowning in a sea of complete hopelessness on my own. But one of the things (among many) that amazes me about Jesus was how He loved people with problems. Big problems. And He loved them in the middle of the problems, not when people looked all nice and put together and "acceptable" to society. He healed, taught, forgave, spent time with, had compassion on, and radically loved the ones who thought of themselves as unconditionally undeserving of all these things. People who actually had every reason to think those things about themselves, except that meeting Jesus changes everything. He Himself was the reason their situations were not utterly hopeless. And He Himself is the reason that I am not utterly hopeless.
I’m learning to find for myself that same grace Jesus has for me in the process. To grab a hold of His love even in my imperfectness and my I'm-not-where-I-want-to-be-yet state. To let myself be loved by Him as I am, in the middle of this process of being healed and learning how to be vulnerable, even if this journey is going to be long and painful and it will require me to stumble my way along rough and rugged terrain.
I've read in the part of the bible called the gospels about how Jesus sent his friends out into the surrounding villages with authority to heal people and cast out demons and tell people that God wanted them. To love people just like they had seen Him doing. Except Jesus also told them not to take any extra food or money or extra clothes for the journey. And what really stuck out to me recently when I was reading this story was that Jesus told them to offer the good news about the accessibility of the kingdom of God first, regardless of how people would treat them for bringing this news. Going out with nothing extra, no plan B, and loving people without knowing how they would respond - now that's scary vulnerability.
But, it’s how Jesus did things. And what He taught His followers to do. He was always the first one to reach out. He forgave the ones that weren’t even sorry. He loved in the most gut-wrenchingly painful way that would make me want to crawl into a hole and protect my heart and dignity. But Jesus put His love on display even when people thought He was stupid and making a total fool out of Himself.
John, one of Jesus' closest friends on earth, later wrote about Jesus, “We love because He loved us first." It's Jesus' kind of love, the kind that isn't afraid to be vulnerable, that calls me out of my hiding place, crawling and feeling my way along the path that My Savior is leading me on, a road that He knows well because He walked it first. He loved me first, through the insecurities and mess-ups and pride and ignorance, and has promised to leave me never. He is the only hope and reason I have to keep hoping. And slowly but surely, I know He is turning my thoughts and fears of vulnerability right-side up, even when I can’t fully see what that looks like yet.
But what I can’t see now, I can hope for from what I do already know. It was through the shame and brokenness, the complete ultimate vulnerability of being nailed to a cross that Jesus rose to life again in strength and power and victory. This is the story He invites us to. He is no stranger to vulnerability, shame, and brokenness, but His rising to life brings hope that even death can’t destroy. I want to see this happen in my life too, for the things I'm afraid to be vulnerable with. My request is like that of the one blind man who met Jesus along the road, before Jesus opened his eyes.
“What is it that you want me to do for you?", Jesus had asked him.
"Lord", the man responded, "I want to see."
I've read in the part of the bible called the gospels about how Jesus sent his friends out into the surrounding villages with authority to heal people and cast out demons and tell people that God wanted them. To love people just like they had seen Him doing. Except Jesus also told them not to take any extra food or money or extra clothes for the journey. And what really stuck out to me recently when I was reading this story was that Jesus told them to offer the good news about the accessibility of the kingdom of God first, regardless of how people would treat them for bringing this news. Going out with nothing extra, no plan B, and loving people without knowing how they would respond - now that's scary vulnerability.
But, it’s how Jesus did things. And what He taught His followers to do. He was always the first one to reach out. He forgave the ones that weren’t even sorry. He loved in the most gut-wrenchingly painful way that would make me want to crawl into a hole and protect my heart and dignity. But Jesus put His love on display even when people thought He was stupid and making a total fool out of Himself.
John, one of Jesus' closest friends on earth, later wrote about Jesus, “We love because He loved us first." It's Jesus' kind of love, the kind that isn't afraid to be vulnerable, that calls me out of my hiding place, crawling and feeling my way along the path that My Savior is leading me on, a road that He knows well because He walked it first. He loved me first, through the insecurities and mess-ups and pride and ignorance, and has promised to leave me never. He is the only hope and reason I have to keep hoping. And slowly but surely, I know He is turning my thoughts and fears of vulnerability right-side up, even when I can’t fully see what that looks like yet.
But what I can’t see now, I can hope for from what I do already know. It was through the shame and brokenness, the complete ultimate vulnerability of being nailed to a cross that Jesus rose to life again in strength and power and victory. This is the story He invites us to. He is no stranger to vulnerability, shame, and brokenness, but His rising to life brings hope that even death can’t destroy. I want to see this happen in my life too, for the things I'm afraid to be vulnerable with. My request is like that of the one blind man who met Jesus along the road, before Jesus opened his eyes.
“What is it that you want me to do for you?", Jesus had asked him.
"Lord", the man responded, "I want to see."
I want to see too. I want to see why being vulnerable is worth the risk. I want to see why I would want embrace the process of being broken when what I really want to do is run away and hide. I want to see the not-yet-fully-seen hope of healing that awaits on the other side of vulnerability, even when there's no other way to reach it than by confronting the messy parts head on.
So Jesus, please, help me. I want to see.
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