Vulnerable

I wince at the thought of exposing my wounds to him. After all, it is he who caused a few of them. Afraid of what it would signal if I were to choose to simply let go of yesteryears afflictions and truly forgive, I flinch as he moves ever so closely. I anticipate the pain. My brain has been conditioned to believe that I need to remain guarded in all times and at all costs. Hope for the best, but plan for the worse. Remain optimistically pessimistic. Lukewarm. One foot out and one foot in. Truth is, in choosing to hold on to the fear, I am robbing myself of the freedom which could be found in letting go. But I grip tighter. I'm scared! My spirit begs me to surrender, but I ignore it's beckoning. 

He loves me intently, and I know this, but I'm terrified of appearing too needy. So, I offer him only the half of me that I can control—hole parts—absent the evidence of my brokenness. Afraid that I love him more than he loves me, I hold back.  I fear jeopardizing the image of my independence if I admit the truth—that I really do need him! Essentially, he is my covering. Yet, I refuse him the opportunity to cover me. The consequence of tying my soul to the baggage of past relationships and those who denied my worth. Consequently, I believed their lies and denials. Inhibited by my history, I remain cautiously within the lines as I starve our marriage of color.

The premise of my knew identity demands that my armor remains intact and fully engaged. I am strong, yet there are moments where I wish I didn't have to be. My inner superhero doesn't always feel so super, still I tuck my dismay away and pretend as though I'm not hurt. Or, naked. Or, needy. I loathe the idea of appearing needy. The falsity of appearances! 

The windows of my soul are wiped over by tears. I've trained myself to always keep a straight face. No matter how fake the pretense... Never let them see you sweat! Unfortunately, there is no light switch that turn's on and off the sternness of my emotions. Yet, from a distance I admire those who have not grown so numb that they refuse themselves the sweet release of tears emptying their soul. I've felt it—numerous times—the unction to cry. However, like times gone by, I swallow those feelings and secretly hoard them for fear of appearing too weak.

What tragedy in life force fed me the lie that emotional vulnerability equates to weakness?

Was it the times I reached out for help and understanding, yet was met with rejection and judgement? Whatever the case, I don't want to carry this anymore!

Sensitivity is not ugly... it's necessary! To be emotionally vulnerable is to remain open. 

Sure, one can attempt to squeeze close their heart as they endeavor to keep hurt out, yet without openness... neither can love get in. And what is life without love!?! Real love... the unconditionality of love!

The beauty of life is it's full of risk....

To LIVE rather than merely is EXISTING, is a risk!

To seek out purpose instead of settling for mediocrity, is a risk!

To be true to you in the face of conformity, is a risk!

To love though you've been broken, is a risk!

Growth is a Risk!

To avail oneself emotionally and to embrace one's emotional vulnerability, is a risk!

For me, granting myself permission to feel is risky, but to deny myself access to the most vulnerable parts of me is even riskier!

I owe my husband the solitude associated with being his safe place and the assurance that I honor him as my protector. And I owe this life the selfless softness of me leaving the signature of my vulnerability etched in the display of my purpose.

In this moment it seems as though he and I have switched roles.

It is he who is now holding back or has it always been WE?

"Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face everyday are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection." —Brene Brown