Why I Stink At Vulnerability

Earlier this year, the ASPIRE Success Club discussed topics of vulnerability, authenticity, and emotional risk, fueled in part by Brene Brown’s outstanding book, Daring Greatly. I recently finished her latest, Rising Strong (also one of our ASPIRE picks for 2016) and it seems I cannot get enough of her work. What took me over a year to grab onto has now grabbed a hold on me and, to be honest, in some ways I wish it would just let go.

But in the spirit of being more open to lessons that I am resistant to learn, here I go into the arena again.

I’ve already written multiple times about Brene’s books (here and here, for example). What I haven’t yet published is the impact the books, and Brene’s work in general, have had on me personally. This is not a comfortable arena for me to step into. But I feel the nudge, and I’m continually forcing myself – er, compassionately encouraging myself 😉 – to honor those nudges.

I’ll admit it: I struggle with vulnerability. In part because I feel there’s enough doubt, uncertainty, and fear in the world without publicizing my own…but mostly because I’m scared to admit out loud that I don’t always have it all together. I’m the first to say I’m far from perfect, but please don’t ask me to describe those imperfections to you. I will likely nod and smile and say, “Yeah, not perfect, but whatever. Next topic!”

Brene hit the nail right on the head for me when she wrote: “Here’s the crux of the struggle: I want to experience your vulnerability, but I don’t want to be vulnerable.”

I am honored by, and secretly in awe of, others’ vulnerability. Yet I still put up my own protective wall.

I’ve always felt like a “what you see is what you get” kind of gal, but I received another aha moment recently while reading Friendship For Grownups by Lisa Whelchel (yes, Blair from The Facts Of Life!) when I hit upon this line: “I was adept at appearing transparent without being vulnerable. There is a difference.” Transparency, to me, is that what-you-see openness. Vulnerability, however, digs deeper. And with that depth inherently comes more risk.

But here’s what I’m learning – slowly, surely: It is when I share my imperfections, when I invite others past this thin but sturdy wall I have built, that everyone is rewarded. The relationship expands, the mutual respect flourishes, and the opportunity for transformational growth occurs.

I’ve had so many experiences of this, I don’t know why it takes so long for the lesson to sink in.

When my Mom passed away a few years ago, my inclination for self-preservation was to retreat inward. One dear friend put aside her own discomfort of not knowing what to say in that situation (who does?) and just kept inviting me to talk. When I finally did, and after what felt like buckets of tears (hers and mine), I realized how much I wanted to share my Mom’s story, how desperately I needed to talk about her, how even though the conversation was difficult and raw and messy, it was real and honest and…beautiful. Heart-opening. I am grateful for my friend’s vulnerability in opening me up to my own.

I have been the blessed recipient of others’ vulnerability as well. A new friend sharing a parenting issue that was so very fragile and tenuous, but in her sharing she was able to come to an understanding and discern her next steps. 

A writer I admire admitting that she is so nervous every single time she hits “Publish” on her blog that her stomach turns upside-down, her breathing becomes erratic, and she questions her choice of profession. Every. Single. Time. 

A client opening up about her truest, deepest, most heartfelt dream, and finding herself in tears because she’s never said it out loud in the 28 years she’s dreamed it.

Vulnerability lessons surround us, move us, inspire us. They connect us with others on a deep and profound level, making this life more rich than we ever knew possible.

And still, I struggle.

But I’m trying. 

I learn from vulnerability role models (Glennon Melton and Elizabeth Lesser are two great author examples), and I keep asking for help in this area. Like Brene writes, “We simply can’t learn to be more vulnerable and courageous on our own. Sometimes our first and greatest dare is asking for support.”

And here’s my hope: I hope that by opening up my door into this arena, yours opens as well.

I hope that by acknowledging and being o.k. with my imperfections, my children know that they can be o.k. with their mistakes and compassionate with themselves.

And I hope that everyone, everyone, knows that they matter. That they have a story worth telling. And – so important – that they are not alone.

I kind of stink at math. I kind of stink at keeping my floors clean, at voicing strong political beliefs, at most sports involving a ball. And I kind of stink at vulnerability.

Of all of those, the only one that really matters much to me is the vulnerability one. You’ll hopefully see more shining through my writing (and if you attended Spark, you saw it there, too), all in the spirit of growing together. Here’s to our continued flourishing with an open heart, a kind and positive mindset, and embracing all – including the honest and raw and messy and beautiful – that makes life so rich. 🙂