The Power of Vulnerability

Before reading this post, I encourage you to check out the Ted Talk I posted above. Brené Brown is a phenomenal speaker who has devoted the past decade to researching stories and connection and what did she find? She found that vulnerability is essential for connection, “Connection is why we’re here. It’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives.” Four years ago in my sophomore year I recall approaching a mentor and stating that relationships are the most important thing in our lives. Life is less about what we do and more about who we do it with. Recall a favourite memory of yours, are you alone? Or are you sharing that experience with someone? Relationships are present in every aspect of our lives whether that’s in our relationship with our friends, our family, our significant other, our teammates, our mentors, our co-workers, or even just strangers. Everything that we do in society, we do by interacting with other people. Because relationships are central in everything that we do and are consequently a core component of our happiness, don’t you think it’s time we spent some time investing in them?

One of the tragedies of the 21st century is that we are governed by superficiality; social media, cell phones, computers (ironic, I know), televisions - all of this technology was created to increase connection, but I believe it’s doing the opposite. We might be the most accessible society to have ever lived, but we are certainly not the most connected. We no longer see strangers conversing on public transport, instead we see adults with headphones plugged in and their faces glued to a screen. Instead of real, authentic connections, our connections are limited to words on a screen. Even the art of letter writing has all but disappeared, an art that was sentimental, authentic, vulnerable. I believe we’ve become addicted to superficiality. That’s why anyone true, anyone deep, anyone with substance feels so lost, feels so alone. Because the truth is, they are. And nothing is worse than ending up with people who make you feel all alone.

So how can we change this? Well, we can start by having a conversation about it. Vulnerability is difficult because it’s a risk and a risk that leaves us susceptible to getting hurt, BUT, it also allows us the possibility to make a connection. And a real, authentic connection. The kind of connection where you feel understood, seen, loved. But the only way to rid yourself of feeling misunderstood is to give others the opportunity to understand you. That means, making yourself vulnerable.

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Let me tell you a story. Around this time last year, I was in a pretty dark place. The people I had reached out to in my inner circle and asked for help seemed to reject me, they told me to just be happy and to snap out of my depression. I felt let down. I felt misunderstood. I felt rejected. Reaching out for help was my attempt at making myself vulnerable; I was in a dark and desperate place and I was abandoned. After hitting rock bottom, I recalled meeting an individual at A Very Gay Turkey Day late in 2013 (basically a lesbian thanksgiving for all the lesbians in the Atlanta region). The reason I remembered this individual was because she actually took an interest in me. She was entirely present and entirely genuine; she wasn’t distracted by anyone else nor was she trying to determine my relationship status. She was enjoying my company and I hers. Out of the 100 or so people I met that night, she is the only person I remembered. Apparently I even met my ex, but I have no recollection of our interaction. I remember this girl, though, because of her energy. She carried, and still does to this day, such a compassionate, vibrant, loving, and genuine energy and that resonated with me. I remember following her on Instagram and continuing to feel the intensity of her energy - the positivity, the love, the kindness, the tenderness - and I decided I needed some of that in my life. So during this dark period, I reached out to her on Facebook. These were my exact words: “hey, so i know this is extremely random, but i've been an avid fan of your energy for a while now. basically i'm in a pretty bad place right now and have been struggling for a few months and i think i could really benefit from your energy and good vibes. so if this isn't too forward, would you be willing to meet for coffee or something?”

Why am I sharing this story with you? Well, ironically, one of the reasons I reached out to this individual was because she had recently posted the aforementioned Ted Talk The Power of Vulnerability on her Facebook so I thought to myself, cool, she knows how important it is to make oneself vulnerable in order to establish a connection. I asked myself, what do I have to lose? Granted I was in a fragile state of mind at the time, so perhaps I might not have received rejection well, but I had decided that at the very least, she would decline my offer for coffee. No real harm done right? She ended up replying and to this day, she is one of the few people my souls have genuinely connected with. I would consider her a soul mate. I would even go as far as to say I’m platonically in love with this girl. She helped me significantly last year; her words of support and understanding catalyzed my healing process. She has seen all of me, and I, all of her. Our hearts, souls, and minds are so intrinsically intertwined. And all of this because I made a conscious decision to make myself vulnerable.

One of my favorite quotes (I have a lot) is, “It is a risk to love. What if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does.” Peter McWilliams. To me, love is synonymous with vulnerability. To truly love, you have to make yourself vulnerable. Without vulnerability, without being your authentic self, you’re essentially in a superficial relationship. Lust, perhaps, but not love. Love takes courage, compassion, connection, and most of all, vulnerability. I understand these are all words and words are a lot easier to say than to implement, so instead, I urge you to begin to allow yourself to feel. When you’re angry, be angry. When you’re sad, be sad. Be the best version of sad you can be; embrace your sadness. When you’re happy, be happy. Embrace it and run with it. Please don’t buffer your feelings. Like in my former post, the beauty of feeling things so deeply or of knowing darkness is that it makes the light, lighter. I have been told numerous times that I put all my eggs in one basket, that I’m too vulnerable and that that is why I get destroyed. But to me, there’s no other way to live. Because when things align, the beauty and serenity of that experience is what makes me feel alive. And because without my vulnerability, I would not have loved. And my soul would still be searching for a mate.

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So let’s get practical. How can you make yourself more vulnerable in a world that is so guarded and sheltered? Take an active approach. When a friend comes to you and they are upset, instead of offering what I call “one-liners”, phrases that perhaps have the best intentions but terrible execution, ask questions. Often we hear people say, “I’m here if you need anything,” but that’s almost a dismissive statement. It’s almost as though you, as the listener, are not wanting to invest any energy into figuring out what is upsetting your friend, instead, you expect them to come to you. We do this despite the fact that we both know how difficult it is to make oneself vulnerable, let alone to someone who doesn’t seem overly invested in our wellbeing. So let’s change that. Let’s invest in people. Ask questions. And ask the difficult ones. I’m a firm believer that you can get almost anyone to open up if you ask the right questions. Don’t be afraid to ask personal questions either; if it’s too personal, chances are, they’ll tell you. I’m also a firm believer that everyone has a story they want to share, but often they do not have anyone who is willing to listen. Be that person. Listen. Help others help themselves and in turn, it will help you. When we create a safe environment for others to express themselves, we in turn create a safe environment to express ourselves.

I acknowledge that one of the difficulties of making ourselves vulnerable is this vicious and challenging cycle in which we live - being vulnerable has become so rare that people don’t know how to respond when someone is vulnerable. Because of their response (or lack thereof), people are then less likely to become vulnerable in the future because they received an unfulfilling response; a rejection of sorts. Vulnerability takes courage and when we don’t seek the response we desire or at times, even need, we retreat back into our shells of comfort and superficiality. So what can we do when someone makes themselves vulnerable to us? At the very least, we can validate them. Tell them that what they’re feeling is warranted. And all because they are feeling it. Feelings don’t have to be contingent on anything; if it’s real, it’s valid. Proceed to acknowledge the courage it took them to be vulnerable and ask questions. Try to understand. Be empathetic. Listen. Invest. Encourage.

So for those of you wanting to establish a connection, I challenge you to be courageous. Tell someone how you feel. Take a risk. Will you experience rejection? Potentially. But will you experience love? Just as likely. When you live your life vulnerably, you’re living authentically. When you live authentically, you’re living to be understood. When you’re understood, you feel a sense of contentment within. All of which contributes to an everlasting sense of peace and joy and an overarching feeling of happiness. But let’s not stop there. I not only challenge you to be courageous, I challenge you to invest in others. Create an environment in which others feel safe and secure. Create an environment that is governed by love and compassion. Create an environment of validation. Create an environment in which vulnerability can flourish. Create the environment that would make you want to be vulnerable in.

In the words of Bob Marley, “Being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure.” So be courageous. Be bold. Be vulnerable. And in turn, you’ll allow your heart to feel true pleasure.

Let’s skip the introduction, I want to talk about suicide

As my first post, I’m not entirely sure how to start this. Typically people start off by introducing themselves, but I’ve often asked myself, is that necessary? Why can’t I just be a human writing about their experiences? It’s as though my age, sex, ethnicity, education, sexuality etc., might affect the credibility of my writing, but why? If what I write resonates with you, chances are, you’ll continue to read it and that’s regardless if I’m blue, black, white, straight, gay, have three legs, no legs, or own 72 cats. Perhaps that’s one of the beauties of technology, it’s almost as though you’re forced to be open-minded because of the anonymity of technology (although people still feel obliged to create a mental image within their observer’s mind by “labelling” themselves). I feel as though introducing myself and stating certain “identifying features” does nothing more than create preconceived notions within your, the reader’s, mind. It’s as though I want to conform to particular stereotypes. And I don’t want that. I would rather contribute to creating open-minded souls than encouraging categorization of individuals. So instead, all you have is me. A human blogger. And that’s my introduction.

So something about me, I don’t like to conform. I don’t like to do what is typical. Hence skipping the introduction. Having said that, if you continue to read my posts, you will learn a lot about me. And yes, even the aforementioned qualities will eventually arise within my writing.

Why a blog? In all honesty, I’m intellectually starved. I’ve been craving intellectual stimulation for a while, yet I have been unsuccessful at quenching my thirsts for an array of different topics. So instead of maintaining internal conversations (which can become very stale because of the lack of alternate perspectives) I have decided to make these conversations external. I would like to share topics that I am passionate about, but also experiences and people that have changed my life. So what better way to start than the night that changed my life; the night I like to call rock bottom, the night some others call the dark night of the soul, or the turning point in their life. Regardless of what you call it, it was the night I had intent to end it all. And yes, I am talking about suicide.

I dislike writing aimlessly, so instead I’m going to insert a piece I wrote shortly after I believed I was going to take my life because it captured my emotions and feelings better than I can recreate today.

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The Beauty in Pain

I’ve stared death in the face. Looked her directly in the eyes. She looked like an eight feet tall, moss stained cement wall on I75. She was 90mph. She was rivers of tears, she was uncontrollable, shallow breathing; she was an emotional breakdown. She was the words, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” She stood between Kennesaw and Marietta. She was pressing; she wanted my soul. She held my steering wheel, she threatened to pull it left, she promised hope of safety, of ending all the pain, guilt, and destruction. She sounded appealing. She sounded like the relief, the savior I had been needing. But a force was stronger than her. Perhaps you might consider this an angel, perhaps a spiritual power, but somehow this thought saved me, pulled me from her jaws. The thought was, “Imagine my parents getting that phone call.” Perhaps it was the utter fear of disappointing them, a fear that motivated many behaviors growing up, and a fear that made coming out near impossible. Through erratic, heaving sobs, I kept muttering the words, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I need help. Please help me.” I’m not sure who I was talking to; I’m not a believer in God. But someone answered me. Someone convinced me this wasn’t my time; that I had more to give. Death has visited once before that, well, she merely knocked on the door. Too polite to come in at that time, she bided her time and decided to make a more pronounced entrance.

She returned less than a week later. This time she pounced on my vulnerable girlfriend who was consumed by the guilt of killing me, by the guilt of being a curse to everyone she’s ever dated. The pain, the pressure, the guilt – it was all too much. Death lingered in the breath of Sweetwater beer. She lingered in rages of anger, fists of heartache. She was a cement wall, directly in front of Rachel’s black Mazda. She was a scene from Side Effects. Consumed by her darkness, Rachel was adamant of her demise. Convinced she must to salvage my life, she sent suicide texts to two of her friends and similarly to me. But death, once again, was stopped. She was overpowered by spotlights. These spotlights illuminated death, exposed her; broke her. These spotlights saved Rachel’s life. These spotlights were images of her passed Mom. Death wasn’t taking Rachel’s life, no, not tonight.

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Alright, straight to the point. Let me briefly explain. So Rachel was my girlfriend. And I am a girl. Call me gay, lesbian, queer, whatever; I was a girl dating a girl, not that that is of much relevance to the experience, but I know sometimes we as humans have to know things like this. Earlier in 2014, Rachel lost her Mom to cancer. A tragic experience for any individual to endure, but especially when emotional abuse was involved. Rachel and I began dating a mere three months after her Mom’s passing, to which it is probably safe to conclude the wounds of her Mom, both the abuse and of her passing, had not yet healed. For the first half of our relationship, I was there for Rachel because I could be. Emotionally, I was healthy. I was sound. I was strong. That changed though, when I did my knee. My second knee. In my senior year of college.

Let’s back up a second – I was born and raised in Australia for 18 years until I moved to Kennesaw to pursue my one true passion; soccer. My freshman year, I tore my right ACL. Okay, not the way I had intended to start my collegiate career, but challenge accepted (I’ll talk more about this experience in a future posting). Burdened with injury each year, I was fortunate to get to play the majority of my junior season. I was in fantastic form and healthy leading into my final year. I, and everyone else, had big expectations for my senior year. Five games in and pop. There goes my left knee. There goes all of those expectations, dreams, and hope. Emotionally, I was not healthy. I was numb. So, losing soccer again, I started to lose myself. And the one person closest to me couldn’t be there for me because she couldn’t be there for herself. So in a summarized sense, we had two individuals in a relationship who couldn’t be there for themselves, but needing to be there for their partner. If you want the recipe for a toxic relationship, those are it. Combine that with two individuals’ capacities to become extremely dark and emotional and, you have yourself a pretty grim future; one “suicide attempt” and two subsequent nights of suicide intent to be precise.

I acknowledge this is a pretty brief backstory and although I have every intention of elaborating in the near future, my present intent is to explain why this night changed my life. The thing about suicide is that it’s an oxymoron. It’s a paradox. It doesn’t make sense to the rational thinking mind; If you’re in so much distress, why would you want to hurt yourself further by taking your life? Ah, but here’s the thing, when you are in that much pain and distress, your brain tricks you. Your brain tricks you into thinking that the only way to survive is to end the pain and the only way to end the pain is to take your life. See how that’s a paradox? Your brain convinces you that you need to take your life in order to survive. Doesn’t make sense does it? Well, I kind of hope it doesn’t. Because if that makes sense to you, I suspect you’ve been where I’ve been; the point of no return. And for that, my heart aches for you.

Let’s take a look at what I titled this piece, The Beauty in Pain. What a bizarre title for a very real, very serious suicide ordeal. I promise I’m not sadistic or masochistic; I merely believe that there is much beauty to take from pain. Take this experience for example. That night, February 15th, was my rock bottom. It was the darkest night I’ve ever experienced. I essentially stared death in the face. All light; all hope; all was gone. But, I survived. When you hit rock bottom, and truly hit it, there’s only one direction you can go: up. Albeit the night was traumatically scary and could very easily have ended badly, I’m thankful it happened. Rock bottom was exactly where I needed to be to start getting better for myself. And here’s where the beauty comes in – once you’ve hit rock bottom, everything else seems so much brighter, so much better, because in reality, it is. Nothing else compares to the encompassing darkness of the bottom. This isn’t to say I don’t experience adversity or struggle, because I do, but there’s an appreciation for life that wasn’t there prior to this experience. This is why I like to surround myself around people who have experienced pain, struggle, and adversity; not because I’m sadistic and like to see others hurting, but because they have an appreciation for the small things in life. They know what it feels like to have nothing, to feel like nothing. Struggle and pain are all relative. To someone, having their heart broken might be the worst thing that has ever happened to them, but to someone else who has suffered other significant loss, having their heart broken might seem trivial; a pebble rather than a mountain if you will.

I like to create this mental image when attempting to explain what I mean. Imagine an individual who has lived in a house in complete darkness; no windows, no doors, no light. All of a sudden, a crack appears and the light seeps in. It’s almost blinding to this individual because it’s the first form of light they’ve experienced. Now compare that to an individual who has played in the sunshine their entire life; that is their norm. So if this individual was in a dark room and light seeped in, they’ve experienced the glory of sunshine in its full force, so a little light is trivial and insignificant and perhaps, even a little scary because of the contrast to their norm. The first individual, however, who has only ever known darkness, appreciates this light because to them, it’s the brightest light they have been fortunate to experience. Because of their darkness, these individuals are able to shine so much brighter, “A star only shines so bright because of the darkness that encompasses it.”

In conclusion, surviving this experience has been empowering. Whenever I experience adversity, on whatever scale, I reiterate to myself, I will get through this. I’m going to be okay. If I can hit rock bottom and survive, I can survive this. This is not to say one must experience a suicidal ordeal to hit rock bottom; everyone’s rock bottom is relative and just as significant. But, to anyone who has been there or feels themselves heading in that direction, I leave you with an empowering quote; “You have survived 100% of your worst days, you are going to get through this.”

Note: The name of the individual in this post has been changed out of respect for the individual discussed.