:: volunerability ::

the ability to feel connected. we're wired for it and that's what gives our lives purpose and meaning.

the funny thing is that when you ask people about love, they tell you about heartache. when you ask people about belonging, they'll tell you their most excruciating experiences of being excluded. and when you ask people about connection, the stories you hear are about disconnection.

perhaps the reason for this is shame.

shame can be understood as the fear of disconnection: is there something about me that, if other people know it or see it, i won't be worthy of connection?

shame is universal; we all have it. the only people who don't experience shame have no capacity for human empathy or connection. no one wants to talk about it, and the less you talk about it the more you have it. the thing that reinforces this shame, this "i'm not good enough"... "i'm not blank enough. i'm not thin enough, rich enough, beautiful enough, smart enough." the thing that underpins this excruciating vulnerability, is allowing ourselves to be seen, really seen.

and most of us know how we feel about vulnerability. we hate it.

there are two ways to relate to vulnerability. either you have a strong sense of love and belonging [worthiness] or you constantly struggle to know if you're good enough. the only difference between the two is belief. if you have a strong sense of love and belonging you believe you're worthy of love and belonging. that's it. you believe you're worthy.

the one thing that keeps us out of connection is our fear that we're not worthy of connection.

so where does this sense of worthiness come from?

a deep sense of courage. the original definition of courage comes from the latin word "cor", meaning heart. it means to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.

to have a deep sense of worthiness very simply means to have the courage to be imperfect. people with this kind of courage have the compassion to be kind to themselves first and then to others, because, as it turns out, we can't practice compassion with other people if we can't treat ourselves kindly. they also have connection, as a result of authenticity, and are willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be who they were, which you have to absolutely do in order to make a connection.

they also fully embrace vulnerability. they believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful. they don't talk about vulnerability as being comfortable, nor do they really talk about it as being excruciating. they just talk about it as being necessary. they talk about the willingness to say "i love you" first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call. they're willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. they believe this is fundamental.

here's the thing. i have a vulnerability issue. and i know that vulnerability is the core of shame and fear and my struggle for worthiness, but it also appears to be the birthplace of joy, creativity, belonging, and love.

when you realize that vulnerability and tenderness are important, you have to learn to surrender and walk into it. but, in my experience, it can be a slugfest. vulnerability pushes, and you push back. however, i'm learning that losing the fight against vulnerability might not be so bad, because i'm beginning to win my life back.

i usually numb vulnerability. the problem is that i cannot selectively numb my emotions. i cannot say, here is the bad stuff. here is vulnerability, here is the grief, here is the shame, here is the fear, here is the disappointment. i don't want to feel these. i'm going to have a few glasses of wine and a banana split. when i numb these hard feelings, in affect, i'm also numbing my joy, my gratitude and my happiness. and then i'm miserable. i'm stuck looking for purpose and meaning, and i feel vulnerable... so i have a few glasses of wine and a banana split. and it becomes a dangerous cycle.

i make everything that's uncertain certain. the more afraid i am, the more vulnerable i am, the more afraid i become. and then there's just blame - a way to discourage pain and discomfort.

i pretend that what i do has little to no effect on other people. when, in fact, this is far from true.

and i perfect. but my job is not to perfect; it doesn't work. my job is to look and say, "you know what? i'm imperfect and wired for struggle, but i'm worthy of love and belonging".

i can choose to let myself be seen, deeply seen; vulnerably seen. i can choose to love with my whole heart, even though there's no guarantee - and that's hard, excruciatingly hard. i can practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when i'm wondering, "can i love you this much? can i believe in this this passionately? can i be this fierce about this?" i can just choose to stop and, instead of worrying what might happen, say, "i'm just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable mean i'm alive".

more importantly, i can believe that i'm enough. because if i can work from a place that says, "i'm enough", then i can stop screaming and start listening. i can be kinder and gentler to the people around me, and i can begin to be kinder and gentler to myself.

(adapted from brene brown's ted talk vulnerability)