Beautiful Vulnerability

When I write I hope to make a connection with you. I want you to feel as though you can hear my voice. I want to leave you with information that is helpful -- real, honest stuff that will build you up! But here's the truth: writing that way takes more courage than I have sometimes. To do that I have to allow myself to be vulnerable. 

Some examples of thoughts I've had:

I've been through some difficult life struggles, but you've been through worse. You think I'm shallow.

I have no degree whatsoever; you have a PhD. You're smirking at my little book reports.

I have five kids; you have ten. (Or two, and you're wondering if I've figured out yet how to prevent pregnancy.)

I'm SO excited because I just ran a mile! You run ten miles every morning.

I just got caught up on laundry for the first time in ten years; you never go to sleep at night until every scrap is folded and put away.


It's endless. Roaming through the blogosphere should help, but sometimes it just makes me feel more unworthy.

Our hearts are fragile things. It takes courage to open them up.

I would much rather write about what Tolstoy thinks or what Augustine thinks than write about what I think. After spending a considerable amount of time inside the heads of these writers, I consider them to be my friends. (Don't laugh.) Sometimes I hunker behind them. (You might not think highly of me, but everyone thinks highly of my friends!)

But I've noticed when I do scrape together the courage to tell my own stories, the response is usually uplifting. The sting of negative criticism is soothed by the balm of understanding. One of the main reasons I read great classic literature is to become more empathetic. Putting myself out there though -- yikes! --that's a whole different thing!

When you find out about my imperfections, you might not like me anymore. But I can't make a connection with others without taking that risk.

What keeps us out of connection is the fear that we are not worthy of connection. ~ Brené Brown

My stats rise, then decline, then rise again. Why? I scratch the back of my head. On the downer days I sometimes feel a little blue. I'm not worthy. I must have used a comma when I should have used a semicolon! I must have used a word that is now politically incorrect! Then someone will leave a comment that is so encouraging, it brings tears to my eyes. In those moments I know I must keep trying. I must strive to open up the heavy door to my heart. I must take risks while exploring my thoughts about the classics and life.

One thing is certain: when you show courage by making yourself vulnerable, I think it's beautiful.

I want to be beautiful too.

Last week, I stumbled upon a video of a talk by Brené Brown. If this post spoke to you and you feel that you struggle with feelings of unworthiness like me, take 20 minutes to watch this. If you don't have time right now, book mark the page and come back to it when you do. This is one of the best talks I've ever heard. 

Note: Since I wrote this post, I've started reading Brené Brown's book, The Gifts of Imperfection. So far it's been really helpful. I look forward to sharing more thoughts about it in the future.