Even if (maybe especially if) it Scares Me

My prior blog posts suggested that showing up vulnerably with others is necessary if I want to be truly known. I introduced research concluding that not being known makes me feel isolated. And feeling isolated makes me die too young.

“Yeah, but…” I immediately think, my habitual defenses rising.

It used to be in-my-gut physically painful for me — as an “8” on the Enneagram — to be vulnerable with others, to share information people could potentially use to hurt me.

Over the years, I built up a thick layer of emotional armor that I knew was making it difficult for me to develop the deep relationships I longed for. Turns out, I now know that it was even more damaging than that: It was preventing me from growing into a ripe old age.

For me to be vulnerable means that I open myself up to others, making myself susceptible to being wounded or rejected. Really wounded. It means I’m willing to divulge who I really am, nasty warts and all.

Vulnerability has always scared me.

I’ve known since I was a little kid that if people find out who I really am, especially the really rotten and broken parts of me, they’ll reject me for sure. I’ve been there, done that, as they say. And I’ve concluded that it’s much safer to show up as strong and invincible.

And untrusting.

It’s true. If I trusted you, I’d be able to express my thoughts and feelings openly and vulnerably, without fearing ridicule or rejection.

But trust is a big word.

If I’m really honest with myself, I have to admit that the circle of people I trust is a very small one. Those few have seen me at my absolute worst and, often to my surprise, are still in my corner.

I’m fortunate that my husband is at the center of that small circle of trust. He not only reads my vulnerable posts — and has read my embarrassing forthcoming memoir more than once — but he also helps me write and edit each of them. We both firmly believe that much unnecessary suffering can end if we engage with each other to uncover and discuss the many imperfections that lie underneath the surface of our perfect facades.

So does it still scare me to be vulnerable?

It does not scare me to be completely vulnerable with my husband.

It’s also easy for me to be vulnerable with those of you reading this who are strangers, and whose worst weapon to use against me is a nasty comment on my blog page.

But then there are those of you in between — those who are in my larger circle of friends and family, who sort of know me, but whom I’ve not yet learned to fully trust. And there are a lot of you. You’re the people I think about when I openly share aspects of my life I have good cause to be embarrassed about or ashamed of.

And yes, that still scares the crap out of me.

But really, what’s the point of having relationships with people if I can’t have sticky, messy, real relationships that will help me grow toward greater wholeness, less loneliness and a longer life?