I have a love-hate relationship with vulnerability.
I love it when others are real, honest, and show who they really are.
I hate it when I’m vulnerable.
I admire and praise people who embrace their pain and their flaws and let others glimpse their own inner story. I find it both inspiring and brave. It is hard to admit when we make mistakes and draw attention to our faults. Yet it is so powerful when I hear someone share their real, raw journeys through life that never turns out like we planned.
I’ve built up mechanisms over the years to prevent me from expressing vulnerability. I’m a mom, a military wife, a farmer’s daughter, and, well, a Minnesotan. Let’s just say I’ve developed quite the set of armor against what I’ve thought of as “showing weakness.” Except, the truth is that it’s not exactly a set of protective armor that I’ve created. In reality, it’s more of a costume. I’ve tried to hide my struggles, my pain, my moments of weakness. I’ve tried to make others believe that I’ve got it all together, that I can handle it – whatever IT may be.
The problem with my anti-vulnerability costume is that it does what all costumes do – it hides my true identity. Those struggles, the pain, the detours in my life and accidents along the way are what makes me who I am. To cover the hardship and scars is to conceal the
truth. I’m learning that the longer I wear this costume, the harder it is for me to remember who I really am underneath.
So, I’m taking off the mask, the cape, and the rest of that confine costume. The world needs more real.
