vulnerability

I'm anything but a closed book, which is why I have no trouble announcing that it took me a long time to find a therapist I felt a connection with. I'm not sure what went into the environment to create a perfect breeding ground for conversation between us, but I do remember the first thing she showed me was Brené Brown's TEDtalk on vulnerability. Like I said, I'm not necessarily a closed book, but I am definitely one that skirts just along the edge of almost creating an emotional connection with its readers. When I watched the video, however, I found myself completely agreeing with her take on vulnerability being powerful; it's what stems emotional connections. After that moment, I started to incorporate vulnerability into my life. I won't lie to you: it's hard to be emotionally out there. As you begin to open up, the throat seems to close and an analysis on the person's eye squinting, eyebrow furrowing, and mouth moving becomes an informational overload. What does it mean? What will they say? How will they react? For me, all these things seem to happen in the span of 5 seconds while vulnerability tries to tumble out of my mouth and into the ears of my closed-off victims.

So as the weeks went on and I found myself feeling freer, I began to wonder: why? Why are we all so closed off from one another? We each come into this world as vulnerable as ever: naked, wet, and screaming. Emotions are plastered on our faces for everyone to see; even more so, in that moment we are held by loved ones and called beautiful. Throughout our baby years, we express every emotion we feel in that second: hunger, anger, sadness, happiness, hurt, confusion; but when we continue to grow our faces seem to be perpetually stuck on three basic emotions: happy, sad, angry. What about joy, pride, understanding, love, pain, guilt, sorrow, confusion, misunderstanding, terror, acceptance, amusement, astonishment, courageousness? For every, "I'm okay," we tell to others, there is a wide array of emotions we're really feeling. At what point did it become the norm to push others behind closed doors and pretend nothing is really happening? Are we not all somehow searching for a connection to others? Even more, a connection to ourselves? When does faking it for others become faking ourselves? 

We're trained to see vulnerability as a weakness, but there are deep crevices of vulnerability that allow for connection between others. The bond of friendship isn't made with superficial lies of being okay, they're made during late-night sleepovers and games of Never Have I Ever. No real relationship was built on the basis of, "Yeah, I'm okay."

We pay therapists to sit and talk with us and consider it a place to pour out our hearts, but are our friends not able to listen and understand? Is it the advice we get from our therapists that help or is it the feeling of unloading the burdens on our back that help us feel so relieved? We walk around with hunched shoulders and plastic smiles, but the sanctuaries in which all we do is spill out our deepest fears and our worst regrets are the same places that fester vulnerability, create connections, and present truths in which we find ourselves. Perhaps we could all use a little vulnerability. 

artfully yours.