Why is vulnerability so hard? Why does it feel like falling off the top curve in a rollercoaster; your stomach flipping, and your breath caught in your throat on the edge of a scream. Why does it make us feel like we are “too much” or are taking up more time and space than we’re allowed? Why does it make conversations feel difficult and larger than they are in reality?
Being vulnerable feels like taking off a band-aid before the wound is completely healed, but for it to scab over it must be exposed. It demands that we uncover what we are keeping hidden deep down away from others to see because if we don’t then we can never be completely well. And that makes it even more terrifying and concerning because there is a rooted fear that opening up to another human may lead to the end of that connection.
I hold back from being vulnerable because I am so afraid of rejection, being cast to the side, and being judged for having the experiences I have. I dance with the grey space between light conversation and hefty discussion, knowing that I want others to understand me but being so afraid of what happens if they do. I pinch off the end of a sentence before it invites the notion that something deeper is going on in my life.
Does it come from the message that people like happy people?
A large impression made on me since being young is that when you are happy and welcoming and bright, people want to be around you. In my mind, I interpreted this to mean that I must always be happy, bubbly, and charismatic to be worth other people’s love and attention. So I threw away the thought of opening up about what I was experiencing. I assumed all people would see me as someone who was always sad or would pity me for my internal state. Neither was attractive to me, so I hid them.
As I went through my years of therapy and treatment, I found safety in being vulnerable with my therapists. But I didn’t dare to open doors with my peers, with my friends, or with my family. I chose to turn away from the deeper side of my psyche, the disorder, and trauma. But this just kept other people from understanding me and being available to support me.
In my final stages of treatment, I found the benefit of being vulnerable. However, this was in a place where I was expected to be raw with the people around me, to air out dirty laundry and past pain. So it came and it went. Yet when I came home, I realized that it is so hard to be vulnerable with people in my life.
My best friend knows what I’ve been through and has been incredible through it all, remaining faithful and understanding. She is someone I can go to when I am in a funk. My parents have been by my side through everything and know more about me now than ever before.
Nevertheless, it is so tricky opening up to people who are coming into my life now, to the people who know what I’ve struggled with but don’t know the extent, and to the people who only know me as I am today. It is like walking a tightrope and not wanting to lean too far over the fine line of being “just enough” for fear of being judged for exposing my story. It is constantly watching what I say for fear that it will be too much. Yet it’s also wanting other people to know the great mountain I climbed and what valleys I am in; it is no longer lying about where I have been for the last two years but not knowing what is too much information; it is wanting to be closer to the people I am with, but projecting that they won’t see me the same.
So why is vulnerability such a great big monster that I think is creeping under my bed? Fearing its sharp fangs and jagged claws but knowing that in the light it is nothing but a pile of old things that just need to be set out and put away.
It is the fear that I will be seen differently for what I’ve been through or what I am going through.
It is a great sigh of relief once everything is laid out on the table and there Is no going back. There is a heaviness lifted and tension released when the person sitting across from you sees your raw edges and still loves you anyway. It draws us together in a way that nothing else can because once we see each other’s authenticity we learn to appreciate it.
Vulnerability is scary, but it is a beautiful thing once you open your heart to the idea of being seen.