consideringradicalvulnerability

[consideringradicalvulnerability]

The Violence of Healing

[consideringradicalvulnerability]

What would I do if I recognized that the world is safer for me than I think it is? Should I change anything? Is the value of freeing myself worth the risk of harm?

"I am vulnerable and I am safe. Maybe that's the secret to life. Certainly to anxiety. To internalize, however you can, that you are, far more often than you think, safe being vulnerable." - Cathy 

The world has never felt safe. 

Since before I can remember I always felt like I was too soft for the world. I cried so much. I felt so much. I hurt so much. I felt like I had a palm on the foot of the universe and still,I have been trying to keep it from squishing me for over a decade. 

Everything is scary 

Everything can hurt. 

I've healed before. I've lost love, I've left love, I've lost family, blood, my sense of self, my sense of security, my sense of confidence. I've lost innocence. I've lost autonomy. I've lost rose colored glasses and optimism and it was all traded in for generic fear and watered down courage. But I worry that healing has created scar tissue. I worry the flesh of me gives a little less. I worry that scabs turned to stone and I've stopped being as vulnerable as I could be. I'm also not sure if this is true. 

The safety the prompt asks about is not safety from oppression, from harm that comes through marginalization, sexism, white supremacy, patriarchy, institutional failure to provide mechanisms of hope and success to people who need it. 

This is not that kind of safe, though they are not mutually exclusive. This is a safe place to feel, to be authentically human in all your flaws and insecurities.  A safe place where openness and trust exist.

I recognize that being radically vulnerable and honest can lead to pain. I trust that it is worth it, that I can heal. 

I have spent a lifetime healing. For a while, it made me hard. I mocked love. I mocked optimism. I mocked kindness. I hid hurt. I wrote to my best friend and I played up my ability to not feel. I went to Florence, lonely. I stayed in Florence, lonely. I yelled and shouted that I was fine. I cried in front of statues. I hid. I was trying to make myself visible, but didn’t know who that person was. I went to Ireland by myself. Climbed out of my shell. I still wasn't honest. I still spent a lot of time by myself trying to decide on the person I wanted to be.

And now I'm here. Less fuck the world and fuck feelings, but with a lot of that fear. I traded steeling myself for anxiety. Now, instead of scoffing at telling people how much I love them, I feel fear grip my neck tightly as I get the words out. 

My brain processes

what if what if what if what if what if what if what if 

What if it hurts? What if they don't say it back? What if they leave? What if it can't happen? What if it can? 

Then I think about telling people the truth about my fears, about my heart, about my dreams. 

My brain processes

what if what if what if what if what if what if what if 

What if they see through me? What if I sound stupid? What if they can't get past my lack of perfection? What if they can't forgive me? What if they think I'm broken? What if they think I'm scared?  What if they see that I'm not as strong as I thought? What if they think the old me is the same person I am now?  What if I'm not as good as I think? What if hurt is the best I can do? 

Vulnerability, intimacy, truth, all get lost in the what if. What if eats my bravery alive. 

If I recognized the world as safer than it is, I would say all my sentiments without holding my breath. I wouldn't stutter as I said the true way I felt, even if I knew they wouldn't say it back, even if I knew that it was one-sided. I would ask for more help. I would say, hi, today I'm scared, I can feel my heart beating outside of my chest and I'm afraid that you're going to realize that I'm not someone worth keeping. I would say, I often worry that I'm not someone worth keeping and it can make me cry in the middle of an office. I would say that sometimes my self-worth isn't much more than a cent. I would say that it feels like everything scares me and that every day is just an exhausting practice of trying on courage and waiting for it to fit right. 

I would say some days feel good. Some days I feel smart, brave, tenacious, beautiful, and all the other good things I am. I would say these days seem to trail behind the bad ones. I would say that upsets me and I'm trying to fix the balance. I would say that when I'm with my partner, it's so much easier than when I am not with him. I would say that scares the fuck out of me. I would say I am terrified of sucking at relationships, at just being meant to fail at love and all things related to it. I would say that I'm worried I'm doomed to not be successful. I would say I know that's a symptom of depression, but sometimes I feel like it's something that has been tied to me by the universe like some shitty destiny. 

I would tell people how I really feel when they hurt me because I would be less scared that my expression of hurt will make them leave. I would convince myself I am less disposable by practicing vulnerability more intentionally and acknowledging that people aren't leaving me in flocks, rather that people are staying and loving me. I would stop trying to fix things that are beyond my ability to control out of fear of someone else's bad mood means they would hate me and I'd let the people in my life do what they need to in order to heal, only helping if they ask. I would stop letting my insecurity and fear override rationality and other peoples autonomy. 

I would thank everyone, sincerely, from the bottom of my soul and heart and whatever fills me with love, for loving me even when it was hard, and for never making it seem like it was. I would thank everyone for loving me through every iteration of myself. 

I would say that I’m still growing, that sometimes my hands and knees still tremble under the weight of my fear. I would say that I’m still too soft, but that the armor never helped. I would say I’m scared, but I’m doing it anyway, and I think that is courage.