Russian dolls of vulnerability

The following quote I found today sums up how I have tried to respond to the things that nearly killed me in my life...

"Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard.
Do not let pain make you hate.
Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness."

I have yet to read through this whole thread but I will

This thread caught my eye because of the word Vulnerability. I will explain my background in more detail in another post but one of my favourite people on the subject of Vulnerability is Brene Brown. If you have not seen her TED talk on the Power of vulnerability you really should. Anyway Just thought I'd share this quote with you



https://static1.squarespace.com/sta...469806827/vulnerability-quote-brene-brown.jpg

cookiecat said:

I can't remember if this Ted Talk was posted here but Cutie Mouse posted it someplace. It's worthy of the 20 minutes -- I still roll these ideas over and over in my head.

https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability

A few things from the talk:

shame = fear of disconnection, the less you talk openly about shame, the more shameful we become

In order for connection to happen, we need to be seen but we generally don't feel worthy enough to be seen. (I'm not good enough, not thin enough, smart enough (fill in the blank)

we cannot treat others with compassion if we are not kind to ourselves

people with deep, loving connections fully embraced vulnerability, believed what made them vulnerable made them beautiful

we numb vulnerability, but you cannot selectively choose which emotion to feel. so if you start numbing the shame, sadness, anxiety, fear, you also numb joy, happy, love.

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The more my life feels out of control, the more I want to control. Is control keeping me from feeling vulnerable? [......]

As to humiliation [....]
So enough 'o that. Listen to the Ted Talk.

Click to expand...

Seems this Ted Talk rises to the top for a lot of folks.

I just read through the entire thread - this meandering train of thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful words spanning many months. This is the sort of thing that I love(d) most about Lit, though I hardly feel worthy to contribute.

I have used the word "vulnerable" recently to describe how I felt sharing certain thoughts and feelings in texts and emails and exposing my body remotely (and he loves that word), but I retreat behind layers of shyness in person. I find myself mute when called upon to speak of these things face-to-face. Distance gives me the strength to be vulnerable in this particular relationship, I suppose. Does that make it only a psuedo vulnerability? But the power I've given him to hurt me is no less real, and that is how I define it, really.

I often feel vulnerable in life generally, because I think I am overly serious and overly sincere, but looking at it deeper, I also keep a lot to myself for fear of what others will think, preferring to be silent than to risk looking foolish.

Even now, I am concerned that these thoughts are not profound enough for this conversation, but I will be brave and hit post, if only to share my praise in the first sentence.

I absolutely agree! I wish I were more outgoing, but as it is I reserve most of my considerable silliness for those I am most comfortable with.

Oh! Does singing out loud in the grocery store count for anything?

Vulnerability and Uncertainty

So the other day, I was listening to the radio, an interview program, and I heard the host ask the author of a memoir…

"so how are you at dealing with uncertainty, and with big changes in life and with changes in your identity that are kind of out of your control?"
and it felt like she was asking ME....

In general, I think I am not very good at dealing with uncertainty. It makes me anxious. And so I do all kinds of things to manage for uncertainty. I do a lot of contingency planning. I know that bad things happen, and I expect and plan to be prepared for it. (this is not glass half empty - this is pragmatic. I am NOT a worrier) I have an emergency bag in my car at all times (in case of an earthquake, or tsunami or civil unrest. We are not “preppers” in the traditional sense, but, we are actually prepared. I never go kayaking without my life jacket no matter how beautiful the weather, 'cause I know how fucking cold the water is and how fast hypothermia can set in. And… attached to my life jacket is everything I need to survive. The ability to make fire, the ability to catch fish, 2 ways to signal for help. A compass. A light. A knife. The ability to purify water, emergency shelter, emergency calories.

I tend to approach things by making lists. Organizing agendas. Thinking strategically. Trying to see three steps ahead and to predict possible ways others will behave.

The idea that changes in my identity are out of my control… is deeply unnerving to me. Makes me feel beyond vulnerable. Did I say already that it makes me feel anxious? Yes. I know I did. I think that I have enjoyed operating under the delusion/ illusion that I am in control of my identity. That I get to shape that. But… if I am honest, this is only true to a certain extent. I cannot control the color of my skin. I cannot control the fact that I am older this year than I was last year. I can control the tone of my voice, the way I carry myself, whether I speak or bite my tongue.

I can control whether or not I live in fear, while I await the uncertainty to come clear. Or at least I can decide to not remain in a state of immobilized fear, even if at times waves of nauseating, terrifying fear overwhelm me causing tears to rise and a knot to further tighten in my belly. Some tell me to not be so angry at myself as I reel through emotions I would be more comfortable locking down and squelching. Others tell me to buck up and embrace a positive attitude. Now. Still others encourage me to stop thinking so much…. *thinking thinking thinking*

All of them are right. All of them are wrong. I have learned that I am not able to be quiescent in uncertainty. Being faced with the reality of how out of control I am (and really all of us are) over my future is deeply unsettling. Nothing is certain. There are no guarantees. Any sense of certainty is mere illusion. But I loved that illusion of stability and known trajectories. I would give anything to step back through the mirror and claim that myth of solid ground. But… *sigh* I am not willing to live in Wonderland.

I will take my steps one by one into the uncertain future. I will marshal my reserves. My intellect, my creativity and my support system. Those who love me and those who will stand by my side as the future is little by little illumined out of the murky fog of uncertainty. I will seek to find the strength that this profound vulnerability reveals. God help me.

So Elle... are you giving up on this foray into exploring vulnerability?
You have seen what this room has to offer and you are ready to move on?

a poem I found...

I stand under the showerhead
until I transform into a shriveled prune
and the water turns hypothermic.
A shower nearly as cold as the lies he told,
And as numbing as this solitude.
The ice-kissed stream of water
cuts undesired tattoos into my skin
Abusive art is not pretty,
sweetheart
Don’t you ever forget.

My drenched isolation

beneath sharp spilling liquid

heightens the numbness I feel.

This surreal blankness
that surrounds me
becomes almost intoxicating

And I shamefully succumb to
the much needed vacancy.

For a moment, I forget all of my suffering
But only for a moment.

I watch the downpour of crooked glass
as it paints bloodstains across my naked body,
like spilled rosé Champagne.
The unforgiving stains seep below the surface
and settle into my heart.
They are made from memories
I never asked for
and can’t tear apart.
Because I am now just an object to look upon,
don’t you know?
My body a museum I didn’t
Consent to.

Am I still that adorable wide-eyed girl
from the day we first met?
Or have you let his lies morph me
into something you think you should regret?
The answer might kill me
but I can guess,
You’re just too damned faint-hearted
to unmask a girl
Covered entirely
in a dumb boy’s fiction.

We both know of a time
when you valued me deeply.
I often still notice it in your eyes.
Sometimes I watch from a distance
as you openly stigmatize
the girl you once worshiped
under covers at midnight.
Just so you know,
This is what betrayal looks like.