Learning Intuitive Vulnerability
Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash
I’ve always been the girl on the sidelines, cheering on others as they do big, scary, bold, adventurous things. I was literally the cheerleader in high school on the sidelines cheering everyone else to victory. I’ve always reserved the dangerous and more thrilling endeavors for those I perceived to be more brave than myself. I valued structure and safety over ALL. I perceived adrenaline as recklessness. I was walking on eggshells, too afraid to step too boldly, as if the earth and all the shells I had so carefully preserved under my feet would shatter beneath me, leaving me with nothing safe to stand on.
When coaches discuss clients’ worst fears and worst case scenarios, we sometimes take them through their imagined chain of worst-case events. We literally make them play out in their mind what it would look like if all their worst fears materialized. We ask them to imagine it so that it becomes an image that they can dissect for information. Then we ask them to test the theory to see if it’s true. We ask them to go collect the data. I decided to test my theory of safety when I started a new life on my own and took space from several main relationships. I decided to stop hobbling over the eggshells and let them fucking break under my feet when I walked. I tested my theory that in order to be “safe”, I couldn’t be alone at any cost or upset those around me with my truth. In doing so, I came to realize that I had slowly built my own solid ground to walk on. One that would not waver based on my affections or allegiances to others. It would only waver if I forsook my own. The eggshells I once walked on were ground to hell and had become a soft sand that my feet were unbothered by. I started living close to my truth, making important decisions with it as my main priority.
This year, I thought my intention was supposed to be “Adventure”. After sitting with the idea, I realized that it is actually my unwillingness to be vulnerable beyond my current threshold that is holding back everything I stand to gain, the person I stand to grow into. My need for safety and structure keeping me on the sidelines of my life is capping my potential to grow into my new life that I am building. So I decided to dedicate my year to “Vulnerability” instead.
Feeling the power behind my choice, I dove right into opportunities to flex my vulnerability muscle. I joined a CrossFit gym, determined to let myself sit in the discomfort of being the new kid with no prior experience. Learning from the ground up. Coming into new experiences as a complete novice is something I find to be terribly vulnerable feeling. Like being picked last in gym class vulnerable. AND I decided that I am a person that rises to a challenge and thrives in a learning environment. So I dove. I went through an onboarding experience where the owner of the gym took me through all the basic movements I would need to know with proper form. She handed me the building blocks and sent me on my way. When I attended my first class I found that two other people had shown up vulnerably for their first class, too. It was all around me, proving to me that the more I lean in, the more I will be shown that I am never alone.
My year of vulnerability was kicking off with a bang. Literally. Later that day after my first workout, I decided to do a cross-country ski lesson with friends offering to teach. I had been out a few times prior with mixed results. I was wobbly but willing to keep learning. Allowing those close to us to see us struggle and sometimes fail is vulnerable. We ran through basic movements. I was feeling strong and agile. We climbed a huge hill, and again, I was feeling the momentum of a successful run. I was on a literal and figurative high when we reached the top of the hill. Then I spotted the downhill stretch ahead of us. I internally panicked. I tried to play it cool, asking a lot of questions about mechanics of going downhill and trying to remain upbeat in my voice. Inside was dread and doubt about my ability to safely reach the bottom.
They cheered me on saying “You’ve got this!” and “Just snowplow the whole way and it will be fine!”. Less than halfway down, my skis crossed and got caught up, sending me crashing down. Hard. I sat there defeated, trying not to cry. I felt embarrassed, betrayed, and bruised.
I woke up this morning with a sore and swollen bruise on my hip and my ego. Why did I leave the park with a giant bruise on a swollen hip if I had done exactly what I intended? What was the universe trying to tell me about my attempts to live more vulnerably? I’ve concluded a few things.
One, when you commit to living a more vulnerable life, you cannot do so expecting that the honest intention you set will somehow grant you immunity against pain. Clearly, it will not. Choosing vulnerability guarantees that sometimes you will feel pain. Brené Brown speaks a lot about this. Your reward is in what comes after the pain. The perspective and the growth. Without vulnerability, your growth is stagnant. I would also argue that without some pain it is, too. Pain is our perspective to pleasure and joy. I am willing to know pain; therefore, I reap the full benefits of knowing true joy. In this case, I think the joy in cross-country skiing will come later after a few more painful falls.
Two, you have to be your number one authority about when it is safe, appropriate, and feels right to step into your vulnerability. You have to be willing to assess and decide if the situation, relationship, or endeavor has earned the right to your vulnerability. I know in my heart I was not ready for that hill yet, and the peer pressure and need to “be brave, suck it up, and just go for it already” allowed me to abandon that inner knowing that said “Girl, you’re just learning to walk. It’s not time to run just yet”. My inner knowing was speaking, and I chose not to listen. I betrayed my own intuition.
The thing with vulnerability is that it only serves you when you have your own back. When you are actually leaning into your store of self-trust and using your intuition wisely. If you are operating on an outside authority and outsourcing your knowing, your vulnerability has no place there. It has no soft landing to fall back on, because you’re not tapped in. This year my intention is to step into the unknown spaces of my life, tell my whole truth, and do it all while remaining close as ever to my intuition. Despite the bumps, my year of vulnerability is off to a great start.
The yearly intention reminds me that I get to become a whole new person as each year of my life ticks by, as long as I am willing to hold my focus on that intention consistently and with honest effort. What is your word or phrase of intention this year? Share with me in the comments or send me a private message.
Love you all,
E.