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

The cost of integrity

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I am a parallel parking genius.

Well, until last Sunday, when I was sure I could fit my car into a spot that I realized, belatedly, was too small.

I did all the right moves, but ended up stuck between the curb and the big, brilliant, red Durango parked in front of me. Even though I tried really hard to unentangle myself from the mess, I ended up scraping bumpers with the Durango. Hard.

As I threw on my flashers and stopped my car so I could leave my name and number, the person I was with suggested I just leave. "It will be expensive", "People can be territorial about cars and can be crazy!", "That is what insurance is for...", "Just go, it's barely a scratch..."

So, even though I protested, I drove away.

I want to say here that I have no judgment about what people choose to do in situations like this. We have to listen to our heart and do what we think is the right thing to do. And honestly? It frustrates me that I drove away at all, but I did. Yet as I drove, I knew it was the wrong thing for me to do.

I told the person I was with that I really needed to go back and leave my name and number. And amid, "Let me out, you aren't thinking clearly..." comments, I left off the person I was with to get some coffee, and took a deep breath.

I turned around my car and headed back. Alone.

I do not doubt the situation could have gone horribly wrong. I've seen people get extremely angry. I once had a road rage experience with two guys in a truck. I wasn't going fast enough and didn't get out of the carpool lane fast enough for them to pass. They passed me on the LEFT of the carpool lane in the BERM screaming the whole time.  I got their license plate number and ended up calling the police because I was so frightened for the safety of me and my daughter.

About seven years ago, when I was t-boned, the woman who hit my car got a lawyer, sued my insurance company and walked away with a lot of money. A lot of money. She even got up on the witness stand (with her lawyer asking questions) and under oath, in the courtroom, lied to the judge about what I said at the scene. My car was totaled, hers was barely scratched, and she took me to court. And then lied about something I never said at the accident.

But even knowing that, even knowing that it could end up badly, I went back. Because that is what I knew I had to do. It would be a lie to say I wasn't a little scared. I mean, there I was, alone, having to tell someone, "Hey, I hit your car." But I believe in the goodness of people. I have been told I live in a 'make-believe world' where I think people are nice and kind and good and one day I will be in the real world and find out people aren't.  I'm not delusional - people can be cruel and back-stabbing and vicious, but I try to go with the good first. If I turn out to be wrong, I turn out to be wrong. I'm still going to believe in people and that they will do the right thing.

So as I drove back to the scene, the man who owned the Durango was standing next to his car with the driver's side door open, getting ready to leave. I opened my car window and shouted, "Hey, please don't leave, I hit your bumper and I want to give you my name and number." He hadn't even noticed I hit his bumper.

I parked my car a little distance away and walked up to him. He was older, had a cane and a worried look on his face. At first I thought he was worried about his car, but it turned out he was worried about me! He smiled at me and said, "Young woman, that was very good of you to come back." (When was the last time someone called me young woman? ha!). When I looked at the damage, I saw that I had scraped the bumper worse than what he realized. He was very kind. Told me not to worry about it, he had an employee who worked on cars and that guy could buff it right out. I looked at the bumper again and knew no buffing was going to fix the scrape. I wrote down my name and my number and gave it to him. He told me he hoped he didn't have to call and thanked me again for being honest.

He called today, and actually started off the call apologizing that he had to call me at all. I said to him, "I hit your car. I will take responsibility for it." He was very nice and we talked for about ten minutes. He told me his friend had buffed out the majority of the damage, but I had scraped off the paint and his friend would try to just sand and paint the area, but it might be that he needs to replace the bumper. I ended the call by saying, "I appreciate your integrity and concern, and I will make sure I take care of what happens. And I'm really sorry I hit your car. Please call me back when you know the cost and what you need from me." He thanked me again, and we hung up.

And so, it looks like the price of integrity might be financially expensive (how much does a new Dodge Durango bumper cost anyhow? ugh). However, it was never about the monetary cost - that doesn't matter; the price of walking away from my integrity would have been much, much higher.


Peace,
MaryKate

It really was worse than the pic makes it look...

The dog ate it... 
Ok
Wait, you don't have a dog!

72/100

Deep breath. Hi, my name is MaryKate and I lie. Or. Well. I used to. All the time. I'd like to say that I am above all that now and I only tell the truth. But. Well. That would, you know, be a lie.

In my life, lying made me feel like I had some sort of control. If I lied, surely the lie was a much better excuse than "I forgot" or "I'm irresponsible". Plus, lying made me think I looked so much better. I felt that if I lied, people wouldn't know I was really a screw up and not worth loving.

Seriously. That is how I lived most of my life. Well into my 30s, I thought lying was the best way to handle conflict. But even when I lied and justified it to myself? I knew I was lying.

I can remember, when I started to work on being a person with integrity, that I started to acknowledge when I lied. I always *knew* I was lying and started to recognize that situation in my life. It started with no lying to myself. I'm a work in progress I suppose. It is amazing how often in the day it would be easy to lie, but through diligence I have reached a point where I feel like I live in my integrity.

I think, in general, people don't take responsibility for their own actions. Perfect example is something that happened to me a while ago when I went to Safeway. I parked, ran in to the store, got some juice and other sundry items and headed back out to my car. I loaded the back of my car and realized that the SUV parked next to me was *really* close. So close in fact, that I could not get IN to my car. Now, I drive a Saturn Vue, so it isn't that my car is small or anything, but I was parked perfectly between the lines. The woman who owned the Ford Explorer next to mine finally arrived and started unloading her groceries. I came out from between the two cars and said, "You parked pretty close to my car" She replied in a snippy tone, "Well YOU... (she then proceeded to look and see that *I* was parked well within the lines and SHE was not)she stammered, then went on, "Well you just don't understand how difficult it is in these parking lots with the small lines. It's just ridiculous, I have a Ford Explorer and it is very difficult with these small spaces! Really, the people who make these lines should make them wider apart, the person next to me was very close I didn't have a choice... blahblah blah". It was EVERYONE's fault but hers. SHE parked poorly and there was no one parked next to her. 

Actually, all I wanted her to say was, "Oh my gosh! I'm sorry. I will load up my groceries and move my car ASAP." I would have smiled and said, "No problem, it happens" and life would have gone on... but the more she blamed everyone else, the more she stammered on about how it wasn't her fault... the more angry I became. Lady? Just own your stuff!

I am not innocent of being disrespectful - I struggle with my own type A personality issues. I sometimes speed ahead and don't let in cars that have tried to move to the front of the line and bully their way in... I could just relax and let them in, but I think "you are no more special than I am" and then I end up being an idiot and almost causing an accident because I won't let them in... so I own that I am not perfectly innocent nor am I perfect, but for the most part? I own my stuff. 


It's part of living an authentic, healthy life. Lying and not owning one's own responsibility is something I see in so many of the kids I work with. This inability to own responsibility for something they have (or in the case of homework) haven't done. I understand the fear that the 'adult' in the situation (me as their teacher) will be disappointed. I understand how scary it can be to own up to your stuff and not lie about it... and I try to have patience with the process of growing up and finding one's own authenticity. But it still frustrates me and I wonder if it is my responsibility to call them on it... is it my job to say, "Enough!"... I don't know. To accuse someone of lying is a touchy thing. Especially without any proof. With just that gut feeling that the person I am talking to isn't being truthful. 


In the end, if I care about you, if we consider ourselves friends, I ask you to be honest with me. I am doing my best to be honest with you. I understand we are all on the 'self awareness' journey and that means occasionally you'll tell a little white lie... but I want you to know that usually I know it. And I am guessing you know when I tell one of those stupid little white lies that seem like they are no big deal, but too many of them whittle away at the trust between two people. Pretty soon? There is no foundation left to trust. And with no trust? There is no friendship.


Peace,


MaryKate