Vulnerability. To let yourself be vulnerable, for most people, is one of the scariest prospects. This is especially true if you've been hurt in the past. Me, I've never had that problem. I always kept my heart and soul wide open (again, some would say too open), even after being wounded or rejected. I kept putting myself out there, emotionally speaking, regardless of the risk. I was never any good at putting up walls around myself.
It's been a long time since I've been in a position of vulnerability in matters of the heart. It's also been a long time since I've been hurt, but I've recently experienced both. I put my feelings out there and was met with rejection. And yeah, it hurts. But I know I'd do it again in a minute. Because without that risk, I would never know what could have been. And more than once, the risk has paid off in a big way. If you're not willing to be vulnerable, willing to be hurt, you're also losing out on the opportunity to love, to be loved.
There is a line in a song by Ingrid Michaelson that says "Happy is the heart that still feels pain." Indeed. For me, even the pain is okay. It reminds me that I can still be vulnerable, that I can still open up to the unknown, risking the most precious thing I have--my heart. And what's more, I'm not collapsing in on myself because of that pain. I am sitting in it, feeling it, owning it. I don't feel despair, I don't feel stupid or silly. I feel like I was true to myself and my feelings and at the end of the day, that's who I have to answer to.
Maybe I would have done well to learn how to close off my heart a bit. When I was younger, the pain of rejection overwhelmed me, made me turn in on myself, fall apart. Probably because I just didn't have enough of my authentic self to connect with, to hold me up in the face of another. I let the rejection define my self-worth. It would have been good self-preservation for me to not leave myself open to that kind of hurt.
Now I accept that in order to have a heart that feels, I have to feel both the love and the pain. And I know that if I put myself out there and get rejected, it doesn't mean there is anything wrong with me. It means that I just opened up to the wrong person and if I don't keep opening up, I'll never find the right person--one who is willing to let me in, open up to me, too.
Certainly there is a time for closing off. Pulsing, like contracting, is a natural part of the rhythm of life. We breathe, in and out. We open, we close. We should be able to close off and protect ourselves if we are being mistreated or abused. We should go inward, keep some things to ourselves when we need to. We should stop opening to someone who doesn't want to take in what we're offering.
And when we have been rejected and hurt, that is also a good time to close off, go inward and heal. Soothe ourselves, reconnect with our authentic being. I know that's what I will do. But I also know that I will open up again the next time around because I know what is possible and I know that it's worth it. Every heartachy minute of it.
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Honesty: Revealing You
In many respects, I've always been a very open person, both emotionally and otherwise. Some would say too much so and they might be right. I'd say it is both a gift and a curse. My reasoning was always that it was better for people to have all the information up front so they knew what they were getting. I could feel like I'd done my part by being clear on where I stood. There would be no guessing.
And honesty is a relief. Keeping things in is such a burden and so unnecessary. For me, being honest doesn't just mean telling the truth when asked. It means not withholding or omitting information that might have an impact on a person or situation. And it means revealing yourself. That isn't to say that you need to share everything with everyone--just the people that matter most to you. Sometimes that's hardest of all.
Often times we are so worried about hurting someone else that we deny ourselves the ability to feel and express our own thoughts, emotions, wants and needs. In a predominantly Christian culture, other always comes first. Self-sacrifice is an aspiration, martyrdom a prize. It's not widely-accepted to put yourself first or to say what you want. I'm not advocating being insensitive or inflexible. I'm not saying you say and do what you want with no concern for others. I think it's a gift to be able to see both sides of an issue but you can't do it at the expense of yourself. There has to be a balance. You can see both sides but at the end of the day, being authentic means being true to yourself...choosing you, staying with you, even as you are conscious and considerate of others.
Anger has never been an emotion that sat well with me or one that I connected much with. Sadness, yep. Fear, yeah, I know that one. Joy, sure. All of these are emotions that I had no problem identifying in myself but that I also had no problem exposing to others. But anger was a tough one…I could get angry for a cause or in defense of someone or something else but never on my own behalf. I never owned my own anger when it came to me, I guess because it always seemed so ugly and scary so I pushed it down so far that I couldn't even access it. I might initially be angry with someone, but almost immediately my instinct was to justify it or jump into their shoes. "Oh, they weren't trying to hurt me," I'd reason. I couldn't stand with myself, in my own feeling.
Recently, a friend did something that I saw as a great betrayal. I knew that she was doing it from a place of genuine concern and love for me but it really made me mad. That came as a shock to me because I so rarely feel that (the exception being with my husband). This friend had set the standard for honest and direct communication in our relationship so I felt comfortable expressing myself to her. I did not yell, I did not call names or accuse. I simply told her honestly, and with a tone that was fairly severe (for me), how I felt. She explained her side of things. I acknowledged that she was coming from a good place but I did not brush aside my anger because of that, nor did I dump it all on her. I owned it, I felt it and accepted it completely. Only then was I truly able to let it go. It helped that she validated how I felt, understood my reaction. Certainly the mark of a true friend.
I've had other opportunities recently to practice what I preach which I may share in future blogs, but for now, the bottom line is that being honest with others can't happen unless you're honest and in touch with yourself, even the parts that seem ugly or scary. It is amazing what growth, what connection can come from that honesty because we can learn so much from each other. And we can experience such freedom.
And honesty is a relief. Keeping things in is such a burden and so unnecessary. For me, being honest doesn't just mean telling the truth when asked. It means not withholding or omitting information that might have an impact on a person or situation. And it means revealing yourself. That isn't to say that you need to share everything with everyone--just the people that matter most to you. Sometimes that's hardest of all.
Often times we are so worried about hurting someone else that we deny ourselves the ability to feel and express our own thoughts, emotions, wants and needs. In a predominantly Christian culture, other always comes first. Self-sacrifice is an aspiration, martyrdom a prize. It's not widely-accepted to put yourself first or to say what you want. I'm not advocating being insensitive or inflexible. I'm not saying you say and do what you want with no concern for others. I think it's a gift to be able to see both sides of an issue but you can't do it at the expense of yourself. There has to be a balance. You can see both sides but at the end of the day, being authentic means being true to yourself...choosing you, staying with you, even as you are conscious and considerate of others.
Anger has never been an emotion that sat well with me or one that I connected much with. Sadness, yep. Fear, yeah, I know that one. Joy, sure. All of these are emotions that I had no problem identifying in myself but that I also had no problem exposing to others. But anger was a tough one…I could get angry for a cause or in defense of someone or something else but never on my own behalf. I never owned my own anger when it came to me, I guess because it always seemed so ugly and scary so I pushed it down so far that I couldn't even access it. I might initially be angry with someone, but almost immediately my instinct was to justify it or jump into their shoes. "Oh, they weren't trying to hurt me," I'd reason. I couldn't stand with myself, in my own feeling.
Recently, a friend did something that I saw as a great betrayal. I knew that she was doing it from a place of genuine concern and love for me but it really made me mad. That came as a shock to me because I so rarely feel that (the exception being with my husband). This friend had set the standard for honest and direct communication in our relationship so I felt comfortable expressing myself to her. I did not yell, I did not call names or accuse. I simply told her honestly, and with a tone that was fairly severe (for me), how I felt. She explained her side of things. I acknowledged that she was coming from a good place but I did not brush aside my anger because of that, nor did I dump it all on her. I owned it, I felt it and accepted it completely. Only then was I truly able to let it go. It helped that she validated how I felt, understood my reaction. Certainly the mark of a true friend.
I've had other opportunities recently to practice what I preach which I may share in future blogs, but for now, the bottom line is that being honest with others can't happen unless you're honest and in touch with yourself, even the parts that seem ugly or scary. It is amazing what growth, what connection can come from that honesty because we can learn so much from each other. And we can experience such freedom.
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