Facebook was kind enough to send me a memory from a year ago. I must have shared this while feeling rather on-top-of-the-world and likely somewhat smug about it all. Mea Culpa.
I do agree with the statement – Wholeheartedly, but today I feel much differently about my vulnerability than I did then.
I’m feeling rather stupid. You know, that lovely nausea inducing feeling of shame and embarrassment. I absolutely believe in vulnerability, and generally, when it comes to little things, like asking for help at work or sharing my experiences with someone down and out to help them feel better, I’m good at it.
But the big things I’ve been vulnerable with have come back to bite me in the ass. Instead of feeling safe, secure and loved, I feel ashamed. I feel worse off, and the weight of the world is now resting on my shoulders way more heavily than it did a year ago.
It begs the question of how we know when to expose our bellies to a world full of people with emotional swords. The answer is something we all know; we don’t, we never will, and it’s always a risk.
Years ago I thought that it was worth the cost, you know, all of that hokey nonsense about in order to receive great love, we need to take great risks. At this age, I’m not so sure any more. I kind of like the idea of curling up in a big ball and keeping my war-weary heart safe and sound.
Weigh whom you share your weaknesses, needs and dreams with. Be as sure as you can that they will honour you where you are most fragile.
Wishing you great friends who will cherish your vulnerability, and in turn, trust you with theirs. Kindness, kindness, kindness. May it reign.