 Here it is. The Vulnerability Movement. A spark that came to me four weeks ago, when the pull of my heart towards sharing and connecting became greater than the pull towards safety and security. When I declared myself worthy of an opportunity to live my truth, test my courage, and to go all in. I was clear in my mission, having experienced first hand the power of vulnerability, of writing and releasing and allowing myself to be seen as I struggled with the loss of my husband and the challenges of parenthood and the negative patterns that had haunted me for years. The power of vulnerability is in its ability to connect us to ourselves and to each other, and in its ability to heal the wounds that keep us from living and loving wholeheartedly. I wanted to share this with the world. My heart was alive with excitement. But just as I began, the excitement quickly turned to fear. I soon discovered that it already was being shared with the world. Anyone heard of Brene Brown? I had too, though I had never read any of her books and didn’t know much about her work, just that she’d done a great TED talk on vulnerability some years back that I’d seen and appreciated. I quickly learned that she was a PhD professor and an MFSW who’d been researching vulnerability for the past 15 years, that she’d written several New York Times Bestseller books on the topic, that she had a professional certification program to train practitioners on her research and its applications, that she had a slew of online courses for organizations and individuals to spread the message about vulnerability and its importance for our survival as connected and wholly formed humans -- that she had, already, started the vulnerability movement. Shit. I’m too late to the game. It’s already being done. I feel like an idiot. What’s my Plan B? I wanted to run and hide. First off, the name of my project was intended to be “The Vulnerability Project.” I became quite attached to that name. But as luck would have it, that too was already being done! Another fan of vulnerability had already created that site and that Facebook page, and although I considered contacting her to say, “Hey, you know, this is kinda my project, you know?” -- instead I landed on “The Vulnerability Movement.” A much scarier name when you’re the one who has to own it. I really just wanted to start a Project, and now I have to start a Movement? I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. Who am I to start a movement? Maybe I should bail. What’s Plan B again? The fears and the insecurities began piling up. I had originally targeted these first few weeks to launch my site and release my first book chapter, but I soon realized that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING. The vulnerability that I want people to embrace is eating me alive. I am suspended in fear. I want to inspire people to embrace vulnerability but I don’t know how, and there are other people out there who think they do know how, and they are doing it, and I feel totally lost and incompetent. It’s amazing how quickly your confidence can be shaken, how insecurity can strip you of all your gifts and leave you in a heap on the floor, defeated. Sometimes, you are too close to the ground to be able to see it clearly. My mind is filled with fear and uncertainty: You have a lot to figure out before launching this project, so take a step back and get a framework together and make sure you know what you’re doing before announcing it to the world. You don’t want to look stupid. But then the heart chimes in: Ahem, excuse me -- don’t you see? You are the movement. This place of discomfort, of vulnerability, is EXACTLY where you need to start. The mind: Whoa. That is really bold of you, heart. You really want to do this vulnerability thing? Ok, then. Be prepared to get your ass kicked. The heart: There really is no other choice. We are never going to figure this out by thinking and reading. Vulnerability must be experienced. The mind: <Silence> So here I begin -- by following my heart. And although I am overwhelmed by unknowns and uncertainties, I believe that a collective move towards vulnerability and authentic connection can change the world, and I believe I can help. Yes, I will fumble. Yes, I will cringe. But nothing meaningful in life comes easy, and I have a lifetime of meaningful work to do. This conviction trumps my fear. It has to. Welcome to The Vulnerability Movement.  Artist unknown. I had an epiphany today.
The George I have been holding onto is gone. He is free in the purest sense. He has no desire or attachment. Not for any of us, and not for this human life. He cares for me, but this relationship is largely out of balance. It’s like the movie Her, except George is not an operating system, he is a soul spirit. In my dream he was telling me that it is time for my heart to let him go. That it is futile for me to continue holding him so near, for he hasn’t the capacity to reciprocate. Though I have often felt closer to George since his death, it is impossible to determine how much of that is a true deepening of our love, and how much of that I have fabricated to satisfy my longing and disappointment, to cope with the reality that our relationship, as I knew it, is over. It makes no sense for me to consider him the way I used to consider him. I know only a fraction of him now. Human George loved me, and human George died. Spirit George is an entirely different entity, and he belongs to no one. Tonight George feels more like a man who is leaving me, than my love watching over me. This is another kind of heartbreak. It stings. And it sets me free.  I had a really beautiful and heartbreaking dream about George last night. I have a hard time remembering the exact narrative, but the emotions are strong. I was waiting for him to come. I was in a place with a handful of other people, and we were all waiting for something. There was a waiting bench, the kind you find at a bus stop. George didn’t come. He kept finding other things to do, other places to be. I would wait, and wait, and wait, and find other things to occupy my time. I began to wonder if he was ever coming for me. Finally, he appeared. He was wearing this green shirt of his, the one with a lightning bolt on it that I’ve been wearing to bed lately. I looked at his face, and it was illuminated. I have not seen him this vividly for a long time. His hair had grown long and wavy and he was smiling, unapologetically, and I thought, There you are -- where have you been? But I didn’t ask, and he didn’t explain. He just stood there with a grounded peaceful presence, smiling. I felt joy and disappointment and love and longing all at once. I went to him and embraced him and wrapped my legs around his waist, and I held him. I forgave him in that instant. But I felt my heart breaking. His energy was very quiet, not wanting or grasping or desiring anything, though I wanted him to desire me. As in all dreams I have about George, he was aloof and unattached, while I wished for him to reciprocate the joy and excitement I felt to experience his physical body next to mine. I held onto him until I awoke. Today I am sad.  This motherhood thing. Man, we really blow it all out of proportion. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s exhausting. Yes, we sometimes, often, want to run away. And we will never admit that to anyone, not even to ourselves. But we definitely dream about it. But come on, guys. Is it really that hard? I mean, yes. Of course it’s fucking hard. Of course it’s one of the hardest things we will ever do, requiring an enormous amount of effort and endurance and most of all, patience -- but is it really -- that --hard? It’s hard because we have to give up our freedom. Another human (or humans) now comes first, from birth until -- well, forever. It’s hard because we’re spoiled and we want to go out for dinner and a movie and then go out for drinks and not have to worry about what time we’ll be home or the babysitter bill. It’s hard because we want to go to sleep when we’re tired and not be required to wake up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday (or 2 a.m., for that matter). It’s hard because we want to go to yoga but the baby needs to breastfeed or we find a few minutes to meditate but the baby starts crying, or we go the whole day and realize we’re cranky as hell because we forgot to eat. It’s hard because when we don’t feel well we just want to stay in bed all day. And it’s hard because we no longer feel as though we’re in control of our lives, though truth be told, we never really were. This is all entirely unavoidable. And no matter how prepared you are for parenthood, at some point you will feel the squeeze of another human being encroaching on your life, and you will want to scream. But this is not the kind of hard I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way we agonize over how and where they are born, whether and how long they breastfeed, what kinds of toys we let them chew on, what kinds of diapers we make them wear, which soaps and lotions and butt creams we let touch their skin, which foods we allow into their bodies, how we teach them language and manners and whether to use the word “no”, how long we let them cry at night, how much television they can watch, what kinds of shoes they should wear to best support their tiny newly walking feet, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I am constantly judging myself for the choices I make in these and all related (and unrelated) areas and it is, utterly, EXHAUSTING. And let’s be honest. We are fortunate to even have these kinds of decisions to make. We are fortunate to have clean running water to bathe their little butts in. Here’s the thing. At the end of your child’s life, he or she is not going to judge you by these things. He or she will only want to know -- to FEEL -- that you loved them and sacrificed for them and wanted them. They will want to know that you did your best, which is not to say that you researched the hell out of every little thing to make sure you chose the right preschool or toothpaste or sleeping method, but that you followed your instinct, your heart. That you wanted the best for them, and that you tried your hardest to provide it while also maintaining a wholeness for yourself. So every day, just try your best. Tell your kid how much you love them. Spend a few minutes each day making sure they know this. Apologize if you screw up. Tell them you’re learning too. Thank them for being on this journey with you. Those are the things they'll remember. And give yourself a break, Mom. If your kid is alive and smiling, you’re doing an awesome job. Happy Mother’s Day!  Wow. What an extraordinary few days. Last week I was anticipating an upcoming interview with Google, and today I am embarking on an entirely new venture altogether. I am going to finish my book. I am going to expand my blog. I am going to dedicate myself to helping those who are suffering (that's all of us) find grace and healing through vulnerability and self-expression. I am going to teach. I am going to coach. And I am going to raise my daughter in the way that feels right for me, for us. I am a million times grateful to have the resources to do this. My main fear about going back to work was putting Nova in preschool 50 hours a week. She is not yet two, and though she is a flexible and social child, I felt our relationship would suffer after I'd just figured out how to open up and accept this single parenting thing, which has me running towards instead of away from her. I know a lot of kids, kids younger than Nova, are away from their parents full time. And I know that some of them only have one parent. Parents need to work, financially we must provide for our family. But somehow I manage to find myself in a situation where the surviver's benefits we receive from social security are enough to cover our rent and fixed expenses, and give us groceries and gas money, and the other basic necessities. It's not fancy living, but it's enough. And no, I'm not saving for the future (which my parents are quick to remind me of), but I need to make this decision in the present. I gift myself this possibility. I have a window of opportunity here -- a space where the light shines in -- this moment in which we have found ourselves a new home and it feels like the road stretched out before us is beckoning: What will you make of this? Will you step into your power, follow your calling, and offer your gifts to the world? I have decided to go for it. I have so much to share. I am scared to death, but that's the whole point, isn't it? Do what you fear, and you will never fail. You can only grow. I must thank every single person who is reading this and every single person who ever read anything that I wrote. You were -- you are -- instrumental in my healing process, in my transformation, and in the courage I have to move forward. Thank you thank you THANK YOU. Let's do this. |
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