Vulnerability

Vulnerability. Vulnerability has never come easy for me, and I don’t think it ever will. I am not sure why I struggle with being vulnerable with others. I have no problem with others being vulnerable with me. I have struggled being vulnerable my entire life.  I have read books, listened to podcasts, and talked to friends, but I don’t think I am more vulnerable than I was before. With them, but not with others. Maybe it’s a trust issue. I don’t trust many people. If I trust someone, they’ve earned it. They have taken the time to get to know me, and they love and accept me for who I am, and the woman I am reaching become.

Although I have received counseling, and I have an amazing Dad, being rejected by my birth father is something I will have to deal with my entire life. I would like to say his rejection doesn’t greatly impact me, but there are times it subtly creeps into the crevices of my life. One of those areas is trust. So, I wonder: does trust come first or does vulnerability come first? Or, and this thought is more difficult to comprehend, do they both come a little at a time, at the same time. I have come to learn and understand that the answer is the latter. Trust and vulnerability come hand in hand, a little at a time. But here’s the thing about me: there are people who I love and trust intimately, who don’t know things about me or my life. Because I don’t want to open that part of myself to others, even those I know would never use my vulnerability against me.

I have been reading a lot of Brené Brown lately. She is a shame, guilt, and vulnerability researcher. She’s pretty famous; you might have heard about her. She has delivered many TED Talks, and she currently has a Netflix special.  I connect with her writing because she writes like a researcher because that’s what she has spent her entire life doing. She defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.” The dictionary defines vulnerability as “openness to attack or hurt, either physically or in other ways; susceptibility,” and “willingness to show emotion or to allow one’s weakness to be seen or known; willingness to risk being hurt or attacked.”

None of those definitions sound fun to me. None of those definitions have been fun for me.

I will admit: the times I have failed to be vulnerable have hurt me. As Gay Gaddis said, “when you shut down vulnerability, you shut down opportunity.” The truth of that statement stung. I have done this numerous times in my life. Truthfully, I have always regretted not being vulnerable when I  have lost out on what vulnerability could have brought into my life. The worst part is that I inflicted the pain on myself.

I will give some agonizing examples.

BODY. When I was a freshman in college, I met two brothers—the Hill brothers—who were interesting to talk to, kind, and were artists. About 2 months into the first semester, they asked me if I would be willing to model for them to draw. Of course, in a swimsuit. I had recently lost a lot of weight. About 20 pounds at that point, maybe a few more pounds. As I have stated before, I have never had body image issues, but this was a new body to me. I was not comfortable with exposing my new body for others to see because it wasn’t where I wanted it to be. I declined their offer. It’s something I think about occasionally, and I wish I would have accepted.  Today, I would gladly accept their offer, even though I still don’t like showing my body off. I am more comfortable with it, though. I do wear shorts and tank tops. In the last few years, I have even started wearing a bikini. My bikini covers a lot of my body still because I don’t want to get sunburned, but I am comfortable enough to wear one in public. Maybe the comfortability level stems from getting nude in front of a massage therapist every month. It took me awhile to get comfortable doing so—even though my private areas are completely covered. There is something intimidating about being undressed in front of someone, and letting yourself be putty in their hands. There is also the potential the therapist could accidentally see my body. (It’s unintentionally happened once or twice during the transition from face down to face up.) I don’t feel 100% comfortable all the time, but I have come a long way since the first massage I ever have. Being uncomfortable with nudity is something I don’t fully understand, as I love being naked. I will sit nude on my floor for a long time after I have taken a shower. I often sleep naked. My friend Emily and I joke that I should start a nudist colony just for me. But, that’s the thing: it’s just me. There is no risk involved.

I don’t know how many people know this: I have psoriasis. It’s really bad on my face, scalp, feet, and nails. Most people think: it’s just dry skin, but it’s so much more than that. When I have a flare up, large red scales appear on my skin. My nails become brittle and break (that’s why my nails are always painted. Thanks, Ceci!). My hair sheds uncontrollably. I found out recently psoriasis flares can cause stomach issues, and my pepper allergy may be related to the autoimmune disease. When flare ups appear on my face, I avoid going out in public, or taking pictures. Not because I am embarrassed or am concerned with what people think, but people still stare. The flare ups are not easy to cover up with makeup because makeup stings. I don’t wear much makeup regularly, and I don’t want to place makeup on the patches. It’s really a catch-22. Usually, I stay inside when I am having a flare up because it’s just easier to deal with things that way, but I have missed opportunities (and fun) by doing so. Here’s the thing though: psoriasis is part of my life, and it will be forever. There are worse autoimmune diseases I could be suffering from. This year, the psoriasis has gotten worse, because I have to wear a mask, which is causing my skin to freak out and it doesn’t know how to respond. I have tried treatments—creams, pills, everything but steroids. Nothing seems to help long term. I started a new medicine a few weeks ago, and it’s been successful so far, but the doctor says results may not really take effect for 8-12 weeks. Fingers crossed, this medicine works.

WRITING. I write A LOT. I have written hundreds of poems and short stories. I write all the time. Publishing for writers is the ultimate vulnerability. For one, it’s sharing your thoughts and feelings for other people to read and know. I don’t do well sharing my emotions. I keep what I feel inside. That’s why I am a skilled writer. Even when I know I should share what I have written, I keep it to myself. Besides sharing how I feel, writing is also vulnerable because It opens up the doors to rejection—from readers, from publishers, critics etc. So, I keep it all in notebooks in a tub in my spare room. Like that’s going to do any good. People have told me I need to publish more, but I still keep my writing mostly to myself, to protect myself.  Publishing puts a writer’s thoughts, feelings, imagination into the world for people to dislike or criticize.  If people don’t like what you wrote, it’s like they don’t like you, or they didn’t understand you. I have read a lot. Some was terrible, and some was good, but I only got to experience it because the author published it. I have loved some books others hated, and hated what other people think is life-changing. Opinions are like buttholes—we all have them. Writers need to put their work into the world. If you  never hear criticism, you’ll always live in glory. But, in the same breath, if you never hear criticism, your writing will never grow. I learned in my college fiction courses, I can take criticism, and I am my own toughest audience. If I can handle my criticism, I can handle anyone else’s.

RELATIONSHIPS. My lack of vulnerability has hurt me in my relationships as well. A couple years ago, a friend shared an intimate detail of his life with me. I appreciated his willingness to share what he did with me, and that he trusted me enough to be vulnerable with his truth. But when the situations were reversed, I clammed up—multiple times—and didn’t show him I could trust him in the same way. I wrote about it, but I never shared my feelings with him. This was not the first time I let vulnerability stand in the way of me and relationships. About 10 years ago, a friend of mine tried to kiss me, after we had spent the day together, and instead of telling him I wasn’t interested, I turned my cheek and shut the door. He didn’t get the answer he deserved for putting himself out there. (This had happened with my boyfriend a few months before as well.) Or the time when my boyfriend was going to say I love you. I knew it. I felt it. But, I didn’t want to risk what we had, so I didn’t say it, and he covered up his feelings by saying something awkward. My lack of vulnerability was reciprocated by a lack of vulnerability.

I also do this when I don’t let people see the real Morgan—the not-so-serious side of me. I don’t allow people see me make a fool of myself. This is why I don’t sing karaoke. I don’t want people to see the goofy side of me. I like being calm, cool, collected. What if I hit a wrong note? Or sound bad? What if other people think my voice sounds childish, like I do? There are too many factors involved, and it’s not a risk I have ever been willing to take. I know I am not a terrible singer. I was in chorus most of my life. In 7^th grade, I somehow summoned the courage to sing, “Take My Breath Away” in my Junior High’s talent show. I froze, and the pianist had to play the intro 3 times before I started singing. I sang the song decently. Part of my issue with singing in public is that I can read music, so I like to sing different notes, but they are all over the place. I always say I will sing karaoke, but I will only sing a song I know other people will sing along with because then no one can hear my voice, and no one could judge my singing. It’s a pretty simple risk, one most people participate in, but I just haven’t been able to get myself there yet. This is also why I don’t dance in public. No one needs to see that. I do sing and dance when I am walking, but the people that may see me are strangers. There is more risk—even if minimal—of people I know seeing me sing or dance. Which means I’m out.

PRAYER. But the place I struggle with vulnerability the most is in my spiritual life. For the most part, I keep my religious feelings to myself. My testimony is shared through my actions. Where I lack the most vulnerability is in my prayer life. Even though I know God knows the thoughts and feelings in my heart, I struggle to say what I desire. Someone suggested I journal it, but I am terrible at journaling. It’s almost as if I say what I want, I will be crushed if it doesn’t happen. Or I feel selfish for praying for myself because there are so many other people, with bigger issues than mine, which need the prayers more than I do. So, I keep them to myself, and in my heart. I pray for other people, instead. In a sense, I take the easy way out.

Struggling to be vulnerable is often a lonely place to be. I am always stuck inside my head. Always. And while it doesn’t happen often, I sometimes get overwhelmed with all those emotions, and need to be alone. This perpetuates the cycle. A few weeks ago, I heard the song, “Secret Garden” by Bruce Springsteen, and I felt the song describes how I am in many ways (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WY1spB1J0vw). Around the same time, I talked to my Uncle John, who has my trust. I was telling him how frustrated I am with what’s going on in the world. He told me I need to get outside of my head and develop a hobby that helps me do so. Around the same time I was reading books about being vulnerable, so I told him I felt like I needed to do something to show vulnerability. After a few days, I told him I was going to learn how to belly dance because it would be something that would challenge me (I am not coordinated at all), and it was physical, so I would not be thinking and analyzing everything. I think he was pretty shocked when I told him what I was planning on doing. But, I flung myself into it. I have since created a routine, which I will be sharing in about a month to try to be more vulnerable. His challenge worked. It got me out of my funk, and it will hopefully help me become more vulnerable.

In all of these vulnerability (or lack thereof) experiences, I have learned, or realized, or been reminded of some things. The most important thing is this question: how do I allow myself to be loved, if I don’t let people see me for who I really am? If I don’t trust people enough with my thoughts and feelings? Brené Brown said something to the effect of: we want vulnerability, but we are afraid to show it. This is totally true for me. I appreciate when people are vulnerable with me, but I am not vulnerable with others. We are all quirky and weird. Every single person. That’s what makes this world interesting. To protect myself from vulnerability, I overcompensate by proving to the world that I am independent, sometimes overly independent. I have thrived on that quality for years, but I have also let that quality hold me back. It’s easier to guard myself than let people into my life.

I live in a family that does not lack the ability to be vulnerable with others, but I struggle to be vulnerable with them. I do let them see more of my quirky side more than most. At times, I still keep it from them. It all goes back to that trust. My family is sometimes critical of one another (I am guilty of it, too), so they are not the easiest people to be vulnerable around. The criticality is not the only reason I struggle to be vulnerable with my family—they are teasers and jokesters. I am sensitive to that, so if I don’t open up, they can’t tease or joke about a mistake I made, or something I’ve done. Even though I don’t openly express my emotions, I am sensitive to them. Very sensitive. I have seen the way emotions have backfired on my family members, so I don’t share them At times, I have a hard time with their joking and teasing, so I retreat. The one exception: the kids. It’s easy to be my true self with the kids because they don’t care what I say or do because, to them, I am Auntie Moe. They don’t expect anything more from me than to be the cool aunt, and they love me for that. It would be great if the world had a little more childlike perception—it would be nicer and more fun.

I do show vulnerability. One way I do that is when I do share my writing. This blog. When I randomly publish poetry and short stories. I need to do this more. Be on the lookout on my webpage, I will be adding my dissertation to the page, so that those that want to read it, can. At the bottom of this entry are some recent poems I wrote. Ones that I consider more intimate. To be vulnerable, there is a voice clip of me reading one of them. I thought long and hard about sharing these poems. I decided if I am going to talk about being more vulnerable, I need to be more vulnerable. Publishing my writing is an easy way to do so.

I have held back from being vulnerable as a learned behavior. In the past, I have been vulnerable, and people haven’t responded in the time or way I wanted them to. It hurts; it stinks. I have to fight feeling like I did something bad or wrong. Maybe it’s not a me thing—it’s a them thing. They might not respond because they don’t know how, or they are protecting themselves from being vulnerable themselves. Then, I retreat and cease from sharing. That’s my way of my protecting myself. If no one is vulnerable, then the cycle just continues. I guess I will have to put myself out there. I believe my subconscious thinks that if I don’t risk, I won’t get hurt. I have gotten hurt. And what if the risk is worth getting hurt? What if there is something so much greater than the hurt, if I put myself out there?

People, who love me for who I am— the brainy serious Morgan, the awkwardness, sports lover, un-coordinated, — are the ones I want to, keep around. If I let people see my anger, which I rarely show, that does not mean they will think less of me. Anger is a human emotion. I am not a bad person if I feel angry, I am human. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I shouldn’t hold back my accomplishments. I worked hard to accomplish what I have, and it’s not boastful to be proud of myself. I need to let people hear my uncontrollable laugh. See my sensitive side. Let other people be there for me. It’s a work in progress. I am a work in progress.

Brené Brown shares it best. If you want to know more about her research and writing, her website is here: https://brenebrown.com/. I like how she writes because she writes from personal experience, but she uses research to back her up. She said, “vulnerability is not knowing victory or defeat, it’s understanding the necessity of both. It’s engaging. It’s being all in.” I need to think less and feel more.

Vulnerability is not weakness. Vulnerability is strength. Courage. Openness. Honesty. Authentic. In a sense, “to be alive is to be vulnerable.”- Madeleine Vengle. To be the person we want to be, we must be vulnerable. I must be vulnerable. Vulnerability is a daily practice.

As part of my daily practice, I am going to attempt to do something vulnerable every day. I know I will fail at times, but I hope I will soar many more. My attempt to vulnerable reminds me of the music of The Greatest Showman. In This Is Me, the Bearded Lady sings, “I am brave. I am bruised. I make no apologies. This is me.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRyMoHJu-i8). The scene when she reveals herself to an audience of wealthy people, with no fear, is how I want to live. So, from this day forward, I vow to be brave, bruised, and seen just a little more. I am daring to be vulnerable.

***BELOW ARE SOME OF THE POEMS I WROTE IN THE LAST FEW MONTHS. ALSO INCLUDED ARE THE SOUND CLIP, SOME BELLY DANCING PICTURES, AND THE VIDEO.

I Knew You

(Written 7/24/2020)

When you’re young,

the world assumes you know nothing

But I knew you—

dancing drunk under the moon,

teeth biting my back;

kiss it better, I begged.

I was your favorite

until I wasn’t—

a friend once, nothing now.

Chase two:

lose the one,

the winner takes it all.

I still feel your heartbeat.

Once in a lifetime

twenty lifetimes ago

we kissed in cars, downtown bars.

Buzzing all night in the neon,

I knew you.

You were all I ever needed.

You healed my scars,

left me bleeding—

you created new wounds.

Lingering like a curse

I will speak for the longest time.

You haunt all my what ifs:

I wonder if you will miss me

Once the excitement expires

In a cloud of smoke?

Will you want me back

when I don’t know you like I knew you?

The Line

(Written 8/17/2020)

I shot you once;

I shot you twice—

the daggers shot out

of my mouth, heart.

All I cared for was being right.

I’ll miss you,

but I held on to my pride.

I followed you down

to the unknown

through the twists, turns,

good times, bad times,

fire and ice.

As we fell,

you held on to my hand,

and never let go.

Even if we never speak,

you will be with me always.

I want to know for sure

when I die,

I tried my best;

you were happy.

Our circumstances drew the line:

I was never yours;

you were never mine.

A fortune teller’s lie—

black and white dream,

wish on a star,

pray to a God unseen.

String

(Written 8/17/2020)

Time, mysterious time—

opens wounds,

heals within itself.

Did I miss something—

were there clues?

Isn’t it beautiful to think

time tied us together

with an invisible string

which pulled us

at the right place, right time?

Wrapping all our past mistakes,

tightly winding all our demons,

suffocating all the excuses, reasons.

One single golden precious string

tied us to one another.

I Believe in You

(Written 9/30/2020)

I don’t want to let go,

But you’re already gone.

I look into your eyes,

you kiss my cheek.

Something’s different—

your lips: soft, sweet.

It’s all so bitter.

I can read it in your eyes.

You’re saying goodbye.

We’ve said all we’ve had to say,

broken each other’s hearts.

I still reach for you,

hoping you’ll stay.

I’ve given all I can,

so have you.

Neither of us

have anything to take.

You let go of my hand—

I watch it, you slip away.

Nothing will hurt us as much

as this—

our final touch.

As much as we could try, say,

we can’t be friends;

we can never see each other.

We know where we’ve been,

what could have happened.

My heart is breaking

as my hands shake.

We can’t change things

as much as we wish.

As you turn to walk away,

know part of me

will always be with you.

The door is closed.

There’s nothing left to do

now that I’ve lost you.

Turn

(Written 10/13/2020)

I was made to remember you

and forget you, too.

I hear, feel you.

My heart is unique—

made to love you

and only you.

Yet, you get distracted

by many things—

the world pulls you away.

It breaks my heart,

causes great anger.

I pursue you,

surrender my heart.

Come to know me, love me.

You pull away,

but I’m still here;

I pull back.

Pursue me.

Lean in.

Desire me.

Go deeper—

I chase you.

You can run away,

you can chase me, too.

I will never turn away.

I woo you.

I desire you.

When you forget me,

I still look for you.

I won’t ever stop craving you.

I can’t stop loving you.

My love is not of this world:

I am not fickle, impatient;

I will wait for you.

I do not get distracted.

I know who I love.

I will show you that love.

My love is pure—

I want to know every part of you.

Just turn,

even if a little,

towards me.

I will help you turn more.

You are here now,

not forgetting me,

letting yourself be pursued.

Aren’t you?

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