Tag: vulnerability

The Detective’s Toolbox

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“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” – e.e. cummings

Mr. D hasn’t wanted to go to his pre-school lately. It’s been such a marked change that it’s evoked the inner detective in me trying to figure out why. Was it the week that the lead teacher went on vacation? Is there a shift in schedule or meals that is bugging him? Is there a particular classmate that he’s having trouble with?

At four-years-old, Mr. D doesn’t seem to have the answers to the questions. I say that like his age is the factor. I’m sure it is in part, but I think we all get stumped about what’s bugging us from time to time.

Yesterday, we’d just parked at the curb and were just sitting there collecting ourselves before we went in to school. Cooper, the dog, was in the front seat next to me. Mr. D from the back seat said, “Cooper is sad.” I asked why and he said, “Cooper is sad because he misses us.”

Oooh, my first break in the case.

So I tried two more things. At the end of the day, I asked Mr. D to tell me a story about school. He told me a story about John waiting in line for the roller coaster on the playground. Another student, Molly, gave John a look and it made him sad. So Mr. D went to play with John and it made John happy.

The second thing was to have him show me something he’d learned that day. They are studying the human body this week. In their study of the stomach and intestines, they put bread into plastic bags with soda water died green to mimic stomach acid.

We repeated the experiment at home so that he could teach his older sister and me. Yes, it’s really gross, but I took one for science’s sake. And giving Mr. D a chance to showcase a bit of how he spent his day made him feel proud of his learning.

Here’s what I noticed. That when we don’t know what’s wrong, we project it on to others like Cooper the dog. We also can get to it by telling stories or acting things out. I haven’t cracked the case entirely yet but I’ve started figuring out the toolset. A similar set of tools probably works for all of us.

Speaking of telling stories, Vicki and I talk with David from the Pinwheel in a Hurricane and unwanted blogs on the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast this week. It is a fantastic episode where David talks about doing story work to find clarity, integration, and healing. Check it out: Episode 53: Practicing Creativity with David

Emotional Literacy

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“Let us fill our hearts with our own compassion, toward ourselves and towards all living beings.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

This was originally published on 1/11/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

When I was 20 years old, I went on a trip with other college kids to spend five weeks in Ecuador. On the part of the trip where we spent two weeks living with an Indian tribe in the Amazon river basin, I got into a debate with another young woman in the expedition.

She was from Brown University and she seemed to navigate the world with an air of intellectual superiority. In this case, she had moved on from the disdain of my friends on the trip who were pursuing English degrees (“what exactly will that teach you?” she’d say), and was expressing pity for the tribe we lived with because their language had primarily words that were related to the life they lived, not the spectrum of life in and out of the jungle.

So I shot back with something I’d heard about a Noam Chomsky study showing that in cultures where their language only has words for light and dark (white or black) as related to color, they still have the ability to identify specific colors. I thought I was proving that we aren’t limited by our language.

Thirty years later I look back at what I remember of this particular conversation with a little bit of a shudder. All that I think I knew at age 20 and was willing to argue about….

Because I’ve found how I’ve been limited by language – not in any way counter to Noam Chomsky who I believe was saying that the ability to think about things not named was possible, but in the practice of actually doing it.

In my family growing up, we didn’t talk about negative emotions. Words like anxiety, depression, dread, loneliness, disconnection – we didn’t talk about any of that. In fact, the only “negative” emotion that I recall that was fair game was “stressed” because it came with an assumption of Protestant productivity.

Then I had kids and somewhere in the wonderful book Brain Rules for Baby by John Medina was the guidance to help kids name emotions as they experience big feelings. Because to name them is to help tame them. And then the book counseled that parents needed to model owning and naming their own emotions. Reading that, I thought, “No way I’m doing that.”

Fortunately for me and my emotional literacy, there are books like Brené Brown’s Atlas of the Heart which maps out 87 different emotions and experiences. Because a few years into this parenting experience and I see how powerful naming emotions is for our human experience. And even though I’m late to the game in both recognizing and talking about these emotions, I’ve found so much goodness in being able to start to parse them now.

Anxiety

Any time I’d climb a big mountain, I used to write out a will. It was a bit silly given that my likelihood of dying on the mountains I was climbing was small but I recognize this now as a way I was trying to curb my anxiety. Now I feel it way more frequently – every time I take my two non-proficient swimmers to a swimming pool, travel any distance far from my kids, or just those days or weeks when I can’t put my finger on the source.

“Anxiety and excitement feel the same, but how we interpret and label them can determine how we experience them.

Even though excitement is described as an energized state of enthusiasm leading up to or during an enjoyable activity, it doesn’t always feel great. We can get the same “coming out of our skin” feeling that we experience when we’re feeling anxious. Similar sensations are labeled “anxiety” when we perceive them negatively and “excitement” when we perceive them positively.”

Brené Brown in Atlas of the Heart

I found this information so helpful – because I think I often am both anxious and excited. I feel it in situations that deviate from the norm and/or I don’t have control of, and I flip between the positive and negative interpretations repeatedly.

Sadness

I came into this world on the light-hearted side and I’ve worked hard to cultivate gratitude. But my lack of language around sadness has led me to grind out life a good deal of the time, all cloaked in a positive spin.  When I am not able to spend time alone, get outdoors, experience loss and doubt, and feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I wither. And still I just push on through. No wonder my dentist made me a night-guard for my teeth years ago because of all the grinding I do.

“I’m not going to tell you that sadness is wonderful and we need it. I’m going to say that sadness is important and we need it. Feeling sad is a normal response to loss or defeat, or even the perception of loss or defeat. To be human is to know sadness. Owning our sadness is courageous and a necessary step to finding our way back to ourselves and each other.”

Brené Brown in Atlas of the Heart

When I resist sadness, I resist feeling. ANYTHING. More than that, when I communicate only the positive of my experience, it’s far less relatable.

Foreboding Joy

I can’t tell you how relieved I was to learn what foreboding joy was. I thought the feeling I experience when watching my kids sleep and then flip to “what if I lose them” was a premonition. Until I learned that there’s something called foreboding joy.

“When we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, joy becomes foreboding. No emotion is more frightening than joy, because we believe if we allow ourselves to feel joy, we are inviting disaster. We start dress-rehearsing tragedy in the best moments of our lives in order to stop vulnerability from beating us to the punch. We are terrified of being blindsided by pain, so we practice tragedy and trauma. But there’s a huge cost.

When we push away joy, we squander the goodness that we need to build resilience, strength, and courage.”

Brené Brown in Atlas of the Heart

Oh no – something else I need to learn to do better: embrace vulnerability.

Back in the jungles of Ecuador when I was 20 years-old, I was clearly experiencing some defensiveness when engaged in my debate. Another emotion defined in the Atlas of the Heart. Thank goodness I’ve learned that I have so much to learn about this thing called life.

I’ve posted on the Wise & Shine blog today: The Internet is Sometimes Desperate

(featured photo from Pexels)

Vulnerability

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“To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.” – Criss Jami

This post was previously published on 2/2/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

The other day my friend, Doug called when I was working on a blog post. When I responded to his question to tell him what I was doing, he said, “Oh, that’s awesome. Send me the link to that blog.”

I did and then….<nothing.>

Did he not like my latest post? Did he not like any post? Maybe he didn’t read it? But he asked for it? <Gulp>

Vulnerability is hard.

When I applied to be a writer for the Pointless Overthinking blog (now Wise & Shine), I didn’t tell anyone in my in-person life. I was excited that I might have the opportunity to be a writer for a shared blog but telling someone seemed too scary — I didn’t have the guts to admit it out loud.

Six weeks went by. Because it was well within the window of expected response, I didn’t think about it much one way or the other.

Then from deep inside, my courage to follow-up won over the vulnerability of confessing that it mattered. I sent a follow-up email pointing out how well I can pointlessly overthink. And I got a response within the day.

This internal struggle reminds me how much I’ve learned about vulnerability in recent years, primarily from Dr. Brené Brown’s research. She defines vulnerability as “the emotion that we experience during times of uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure.” It is where we go when things matter and yet they are out of our control. Which I believe is the heart of life.

But she has researched extensively the connection between vulnerability and courage.  “In my most recent research on courage and leadership, the ability to embrace vulnerability emerged as the prerequisite for all of the daring leadership behavior.” Or said more succinctly in one of her most oft repeated quotes, “I believe that we have to walk through vulnerability to get to courage.”

Whether it is leadership, creativity or intimacy, we have to risk emotional exposure in order to show up. If something matters, it will hurt if not met with success, acclaim or acceptance. But I’ve learned that showing up always results in SOMETHING that keeps moving me forward on my journey. I’ll never be able to say that I don’t consider what the potential audience might think as I write this – but I get closer to knowing what it is that I think of my effort.

And what about what my friend Doug thinks? Something I read in a book published by blogger, Julia Preston’s “Voices: Who’s In Charge of the Committee In My Head?” about her life and blogging experience gave me insight into the reactions, or lack thereof, of my non-blogging friend.

“One of the most valuable lessons that I ever learned about vulnerability is that the more willing I am to tell the truth about myself to a trusted listener – someone who will not judge me for whatever heinous crime that I believe I may have committed, the more of me there is to love. The more others trust me enough to share from within the depths of their being, the more that I realize that we’re all struggling with the same human foibles.”

Voices: Who’s in Charge of the Committee In My Head? by Julia Preston

My mountain climbing friend and former IT work colleague, Doug, isn’t a blogger or writing in any format that I know of to share his authentic life. If I took up knitting, I certainly wouldn’t expect any insightful commentary from him on that pursuit. So why do I expect it about writing?

Because to speak to anyone else, writing has to be vulnerable and authentic. Sometimes opening that vein to pour onto the page takes a lot of guts but it’s the only way to reach to others who are willing to walk through vulnerability to get to courage.

I’ve written a related post on the Wise & Shine blog inspired by Miss O’s 3rd grade teacher about the reader’s experience: Writing Windows and Mirrors

(featured photo from Pexels and featured quote from Mitch Teemley: Be Humble. Or Be Humbled )

I’m Trying To Do Better

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“And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk to bloom.” – Anais Nin

In the ten years or so before my dad died, my parents started spending their winters in Tucson. I’d go visit whenever my bones needed drying out, usually in February.

In one of my favorite stories that I tell in my book, on a visit to Tucson three years before my dad died, my mom and I were in the living room and Dad yelled to us from his study, “Isn’t the sunrise beautiful this morning? We are so lucky.”

And Mom yelled back, “Dick, it’s absolutely wonderful!”

I could see my mom wasn’t really paying attention and said to her in a low tone, “It’s okay, Mom, I won’t tell him you didn’t even look.”

Mom replied, “He can’t even see the sunrise from where he’s sitting.”

I love that story because it showcases my dad’s enthusiasm as well as my mom’s delightful ability to go along. But it also reminds me of the flip side of our family. My parents didn’t argue at all when I was growing up. There was no playing Mom off Dad because they were a unified front. Certainly they must have had conflict but they were so good at covering it up or having it out behind closed doors that there was no sign of it in front of the kids.

This is all to say that I suck at communicating hard feelings, and I come by it honestly. It doesn’t help that when I was married, my ex-husband”s response when I told him something I felt or was concerned about that he didn’t want to hear was, “What’s the big deal?”

I’ve worked on this in two ways. First, through meditation, I’m able to better discern what is and isn’t important for me to speak up about and let go of the stuff that isn’t. It’s one of the reasons meditation works for me to irrigate the irritation. Am I irritated because I’m tired, my ego is out of whack, etc.?

And my second way? My children. They provide me a steady flow of boundary-pushing, soul-wearying, things I can’t live with examples that I have to find the words to express. The beautiful thing is that it’s this expansive relationship of love and constancy that’s allowed me to grow into expressing my wounds.

Like last night when Mr. D’s toenail cut into my shin. I said, “ouch.” He said, “Sorry.” I replied, “It’s okay.” And we went on with the night. Such a small thing – but I’m learning the risk the little ones in order to be brave for the big ones.

I adore my dad, as anyone that has read my writing knows. He could manufacture sunshine just like he did that morning in Tucson. His job as a pastor made him very good at carrying everyone else’s hurts. But I’m not sure he ever learned how to express his own.

I’m hoping that I can grow my own willingness to be vulnerable so that I can do that better. I can hear my dad saying to me, “You’ve got this, Kid.”

For more on the topic, please check out my podcast with Dr. Vicki Atkinson about risking disappointment. Please search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast in Apple, Amazon Music, Spotify or Pocket Casts. Or click here for show notes and a link: Episode 42: Risking Disappointment with Vicki and Wynne

(picture is my own)

Leaning In To Answers

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“I’ll choose honesty over perfection every single time.” – unknown

“Have you been faithful to me?” was the question I asked that essentially ended my marriage. It took three years for us to be completely done but that question was a dividing point. Not a particular brave one because I already knew the answer (my business partner had told me), but it was a conversation starter for sure.

But what it divides is more than just my marital status. In the aftermath of my divorce, what I’ve learned is to be able to ask questions, even ones that might change the status quo of a relationship.

  • Do you still want to do this?
  • Is this a meaningful job for you?
  • Does this make sense?
  • This way we have of talking doesn’t meet my needs. Can we do better?

As I was healing from my divorce, I was introduced to the Buddhist nun, Pema Chӧdrӧn’s writings about leaning in. Those words, leaning in, became one of the defining points between before the question and after the question. I learned that I can ask the tough questions and survive. Moreover, I learned the wisdom that the answer exists, whether I want to know or not. So I might as well lean in.

This whole practice has removed a patina of fear from my life. It doesn’t make asking big questions any easier since I’m a conflict-averse, people-pleaser. But does make me less fearful of doing so. There were many questions that I could have asked in my marriage that might have might have started the conversation sooner – Why are your needs more important than mine?  Why do you say, “What’s the big deal?” when I tell you something that is bothering me? I feel suffocated by your need for constant affirmation, can we change this?

I don’t think the outcome would have changed but I do think the dialogue would have been more brave and real. I didn’t ask those questions at the time because I was quite adept at looking away. There have been many good things that have come from my divorce – my meditation practice, inner peace, the freedom to find my own path. But one of the most fruitful is the willingness to lean in to ask and answer meaningful questions.

Somehow asking that first one taught me I could handle any other answers that came my way.

Please see my Heart of the Matter post for a response to a recent question I asked my mom. The Courage to Ask Questions

(featured photo from Pexels)

Having Lunch with God

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“Everyone’s life is a fairy tale, written by God’s fingers.” – Hans Christian Anderson

The other day I read the suggestion in a meditation book that we could talk to God, whatever our idea of a Higher Power might be, as if God was our friend. I’ve been pondering it ever since because chattering away to the Universe about the latest cute thing my kids have said, relating the story about spilling water on my pizza, or who I have a crush on doesn’t match with my idea of prayer.

But it has me thinking about faith, prayer, and God in a slightly new way. That is, the one phrase that I hear said to me by my friends, the one that is consistent whether they be new or old friends, male or female, is “you don’t ask for help.”

As is often the case with new angles, it’s led to an a-ha moment — that would likely be the same thing that God would say to me. I’ve long known that I tend towards doing instead of being and am impatient. The result is that I’d prefer to take things into my own hands instead of waiting for the Universe to work its magic.

If there’s a consistent trend that I notice looking back at my life so far, it’s that it’s only after I’ve mucked around trying to make things happen my way, only then do I sit back on my heels and try vulnerability, faith and patience.

This makes me think of Brené Brown’s recap of Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey. The protagonist tries everything they can to complete their quest, ruling everything else out, until they finally concede the only way through is to be vulnerable.

If God were a friend, I imagine I’d show up for our lunch date a little harried by life and then after a warm hug, sit down to change gears, and breathe deeply. I’d pick up the menu, only to put it down immediately so I could focus on the presence before me, and remember how good it is to sit in the company of my friend.

Ah yes, God and I would have a good laugh about my proclivity to engineer life and to try work above my pay grade. But then I’d thank God for all the wonderful ways God has delivered amazing miracles and results in my life, even when I couldn’t see it at the time. And then maybe we could work out a signal of when I’m supposed to stand down and ask for help.

If God were a friend, I’d ask questions about climate change and gun violence because I imagine God could provide a bigger picture view that would help inspire and motivate my efforts in the right direction. I would have the opportunity to ask, “How can I help?”

I’d unload the things the things that feel burdensome and heavy, share my recent mistakes that I haven’t quite forgiven myself for, and I’d glean a little insight about myself from how my friend responds.

I’d tell stories about Miss O answering why she got dressed on a weekend morning before she had to, “I want to be ready for the future.” I’d tell about the other night when Mr. D was fitful because he didn’t want to be back from our mini vacation, and in the middle of the night he sat up in my bed and said, “Mama?” And when I tiredly answered “yes”, he sighed and laid back and said, “Nothing.”

I’d remember to turn and ask, “I don’t have a map. Can you help me get to wherever I’m supposed to be going?” And I’d walk away a little bit lighter because of the time spent in the company who lets me know I’m loved, understood, and supported.

Maybe God has been a friend this whole time.

I also publish posts on the Heart of the Matter blog on Mondays. The Journey to Wholeness talks about writing about life from the understanding that comes from the second half of life.

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Give and Take Problem

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“Alone we go faster, together we go further.” – African Proverb

For my birthday six months ago, my brother and sister-in-law gave me a voucher for taking care of the kids for two nights. I haven’t used it yet because I’m saving it up. I’m not sure for what but it’ll be big. For example, if some great opportunity to spend the weekend with the love of my life (not yet found or looked for), I want to have that voucher in my pocket to use.

This uncovers what I think is a flaw in my default mode. I tend to think of relying on others as “using chits.” For a project a couple of years ago when I was replacing the tension coil on my garage door, my mom suggested that maybe I should get my brother to do it. And it was a good idea but I thought I’d give it a try first so I could use my “chits” for something that I couldn’t fix.

In this way, I’ve learned to be very self-reliant. And I value that. But I’ve also become increasingly hardened against needing others. I’ve forgotten that needing others isn’t a bad thing.

This is probably no surprise to anyone reading this. After all, this might be exactly how I came to choose to have children on my own. While on the practical level it was because I hadn’t found the right partner and time was running out, it’s probably healthy to admit that I have some work to do on being inter-dependent on others.

I’m thinking about this because of the gift giving that goes on this season. We have to be as good at receiving as giving. It reminds me of a great post that Todd Fulginiti wrote: Helping Others: Can You Dish It Out But Not Take It? He made the point that receiving with gratitude feels good. It doesn’t make us needy, it makes the other person feels like they’ve given something of value.

I know when I find the love of my life, I’ll need to drop that independent shield to be vulnerable. And I bet my brother and sister-in-law will be so thrilled that they’d happily take the kids whether or not I have a voucher.

(featured photo from Pexels)

(The quote for this post came from a post by my lovely Wise & Shine colleague Cristiana Branchini on her blog Appreciating the Differences)

Unlearning My Way Back

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“A child can teach an adult three things: To be happy for no reason, To always be busy with something, and To know how to demand with all his might that which he desires.” – Paulo Coehlo

My sister-in-law recounted a conversation she had this week with my daughter, 7-year-old Miss O while holding hands and walking through an outdoor shopping center near our house.

Miss O said, “I love this place. Fun stores, good food, no BS”

My sister-in-law paused for a beat, wondering if she should ask, hoping Miss O didn’t know what it meant, and then asked, “Do you know what BS is?”

Miss O replied brightly, “Of course! Bad Service!”

After I stopped laughing, I wondered why it is that we think it’s bad for 7-year-olds to know swear words. Other than the fact that their executive brain function isn’t fully developed and they might deploy them inappropriately, indiscriminately or both. I landed on the fact that it feels like a loss of innocence.

I heard an interview once with singer and songwriter Billy Bragg where he posited that the opposite of faith isn’t doubt – but cynicism. If I think of Miss O using bad language, it feels cynical as if some beliefs of childhood would have had to have suffer in the process.

At their age, Miss O and Mr D believe that:

They are loved beyond measure and worthy of love

If you pray, those prayers will be answered

There is magic in the air so that sometimes fortunes found in fortune cookies will reveal the next fun thing

Potential new friends are everywhere

If you cry and show your vulnerability, you will be taken care of

Looking through this list I’ve typed, I think that I need to unlearn my way back to those beliefs. Because my cynical self might have been feeding me a lot of BS instead – and by that I mean bad service, of course. 😉

Taking Risks

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“Sometimes it’s riskier not to take a risk. Sometimes all you’re guaranteeing is that things will stay the same.” – Danny Wallace

A few years ago, a man fell into the crater of Mt. St. Helens while taking a summit picture. He was standing too close to the edge when a huge piece of corniced snow fell off taking him with it.

When I heard the news, I thought, “Oh geez, I probably stood on just corniced snow there too.” On St. Helens, which blew a great deal of its top off when it erupted in 1980, it’s hard to tell where the actual rim is and the pull to look into the crater is powerful.

Taking risks, hopefully wiser ones than that, is the subject of my Wise & Shine post this week: Life: Risky Business.

(featured photo is me on the rim of Mt. St. Helens)

Dancing In the Dark

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“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” – Sarah Williams

My kids are going through this “scared of the dark” phase. It seems to be seasonally inspired as the nights and mornings get darker. When we have 16 hours of daylight in the summer, they don’t see the dark very often but right now we’re at just over 10 hours of daylight. By the time we get to the solstice, it’ll be something like only eight hours of light each day.

I asked them what the dark feels like to them. Mr. D said surprise. Miss O added that someone could be a foot away in the dark waiting to snatch them and they wouldn’t know.

It makes me think of one of my darkest moments. When I miscarried a baby 4 years ago, overnight the world completely lost all its color and I couldn’t give a care about anything. In the moments that I felt anything, it was anger like I’d never felt before – rage, really – and nobody could do anything right. Except Miss O – I could muster some energy to pull it together for her. This started 4 days before Christmas, and I stumbled through the motions of the holidays just trying to be polite. I could get the smallest glimmer of peace in the morning when I meditated and every once in a while something amused me but overall the landscape looked completely black/white/gray with an occasional spot of color that pulled me through.

In a few weeks I evened out and I could work through the loss. I had stopped taking all the hormones that come with invitro fertilization when I miscarried so I guessed that there was a strong physical component to my experience of darkness.

Going through this gave me the great big a-ha that my assumption that my life experience and outlook were solid was totally wrong.  And I also began to understand that others might come at life from a completely different felt experience.

Mr. D told me his strategy about his dark – get a flashlight. And I love that because it’s a brave looking into the dark. To illuminate the things that scare us so we can lean in to look more closely. And I keep reminding them that there are many things we see in the dark that we can’t see otherwise – like our adventure to see the stars, Halloween decorations not to mention our own frailty. It’s easier to be vulnerable in the dark.

Sometimes the dark makes things visible– and they are different things to see and learn from than in the light.

My kids love Rihanna’s song, “Dancing in the Dark” from the movie, Home. So I’m suggesting that we can dance in the dark until it doesn’t seem so scary and then stay with it long enough to maybe even understand ourselves and others better.