The Safety in Vulnerability

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I've been reading Dare to Lead. In Brené Brown's book, she talks about the courage to be vulnerable and how it benefits your life and your ability to be a good leader. She explains how being vulnerable allows for feelings of safety and connection. Vulnerability builds integrity and integrity builds trust; trust solidifies relationships and strengthens connections.

It's caused me to think about my own vulnerability. In my last blog, back in February, I was barely hanging on. I was lost in my own anxiety, confusion and panic about feeling like a total failure. I realize, looking back on it, the last several years have been about being vulnerable and about tearing down my walls of isolation. These last five years have been about trusting that I was doing something that was not just in the best interest of others, but also an opportunity for me to grow and learn. This time in my life has been about accepting my failures and my joys of taking on parenting, and it has been about learning to be vulnerable, imperfect, and honest about my struggles. It's also been about realizing that good parenting is about truly putting aside my own need to be 'safe', in order to meet the needs of my children who depend on me - all while trying to figure out how to take care of myself in the process.

I've spent a lot of the last few years crying. Railing against having to trust when it was so damn scary to do so. Railing against having to tear down the walls I spent 42 years building.

I can't say my heart was in a casket, but I was TERRIBLY careful of how much I loved and how close I really allowed myself get to someone. It was easier with friends. Candace clearly taught me about unconditional love, but it was easy with her. With her I had no walls and it was the safest I have ever felt with someone. That connection was not so easy with others. I had another female friend at the time, I thought we were best friends - but in truth, I never really t her. I felt like everything I did around her was 'fine' but the feedback I often got was, "I wish you were just a little different. I wish you'd do XX more and then I'd feel safe around you." No matter how much I tried to please her, I was never able to achieve the coveted status of, "Ok, you've done enough. I can love you now." I've had relationships where my partner had a list of items about me that if I'd change, he would love me more. Again, I never reached the "Ok, you've met my standards, I can openly love you now without requirements." What I have recognized as I have aged, is that those people and those situations came because I didn't feel like I was good enough just the way I was. I chose people who reiterated to me that if I would just change a few pieces of myself, gosh, I'd be lovable after all. Those people in my life made it easy to keep my heart walled off because their hearts were walled off and they mirrored back to me the 'smartness' of being protected.

I could have chosen to stay walled off and been a disconnected parent. I could have opted to not care and put myself first. But for me, being what I personally define as a 'good' parent, meant I had to tear down my walls. It meant I had to be vulnerable. It meant I had to dare to come away from the detritus of my shattered walls, to move forward with who and how I love, and to not scoop up the dust to rebuild my fortifications.

In my life now, I keep only friends that are not, at their base, angry. I don't mean I don't have friends who get angry - I do. They get angry about politics, about our current disastrous administration. They get angry about situations in their past and present where they had no voice - both men and women, and I applaud their courage in speaking up now. I have friends who are fiercely angry and put that anger toward making change in this world for themselves and for others. What I mean is that I don't have people in my life who rage because they drop a pizza on the floor and scream so loudly and so violently, their dog cowers in the entryway begging me to take her home with me as I slip out of their house. In my life now, I have people around me in various stages of their own wall-removal projects. And I love them for it.

I recognize that being vulnerable and being someone who dares to love, means more than just being upbeat or 'nice'. I'm not nice, in fact, I once had a guy I dated tell me so. Thinking back, I wish I had asked him what he meant by that. I don't strive to be nice. I strive to be loving, honest, and live a life of integrity. I don't think those qualities generally make a person nice.

Being vulnerable is hard work. It means knowing I will, at times, be hurt by people I trust. It means having to live my life in integrity. It means looking at why I get angry and being honest with it, instead of letting anger control me. Yes, I have anger inside. It is a part of myself that I work on all the time. My goal isn't to tame it, as anger can be a good motivator, but to recognize it so it doesn't tear me down or apart. I'm working on not using angry self-talk. I spend more time loving myself and less time worrying about being perfect.

I always thought being vulnerable wasn't worth it. The world wasn't safe enough to be who I am. It was full of heartbreak and I was going to be safe from that. But now I know that the world has all those difficult situations, but I'd rather walk the world with an open heart, than a hard one.

peace my friends,

MaryKate