As I am sitting on the top of my bunk bed in muggy and steamy Koun Damrei, Cambodia, I was reminded of a thought that caused me to feel challenged and start questioning myself. This thought sparked randomly on our 12 hour flight to Hong Kong to get to our ministry here in Cambodia.
In my past, I was told that I am transparent. Similar to chucking Dum Dum suckers in a citywide parade, I would throw friends deep heart things without much reservation. Granted, I don’t and didn’t throw deep heart things often to strangers but with my friends over “coffee” (chai tea latte for me please) I didn’t feel threatened being transparent. Revealing sections of my heart to others gave me joy because I witnessed connection. In the muck and mire of life, when I shared with others there was a sense of trust, bond, and relatability.
It’s like two people entrusting the rawness of their humanity to one another and becoming closer because of this terrifying but freeing exchange.
I’ve been told that I possess a soft heart like warm bread that you pass around the table at Thanksgiving or Pilsbury dough boy croissants you pop out of a can. I want to have a soft heart but I realized my heart is no longer as pliable or inviting as before. There’s parts of it made of steel and I’ve only realized these past months that it grew more guarded without my knowledge.
As a squad of 19, we experienced a couple days together to refresh with worship, messages from leaders, and debriefing before we transitioned to a new month. The concept of unity this last week was constantly emphasized. As we circled around the bonfire, the guitar playing stopped, and a moment to share about struggles, feelings, anxieties was opened in hopes of the squad digging more into unity with one another.
My instant thought was, “Nope. I’m not sharing.”
That instinctual reaction to retreat from sharing the truth about myself was a surprise. It isn’t the first time this has happened either in the last few months. Often in conversations, I dodge and weave to the best of my abilities to only talk about the other person and focus on the ways the Lord is showing up in their life. I’ve done this almost naturally now without awareness. The safe place for me is counselor, listener, comforter, and friend. The risky place is having the spotlight on me about the complexities and fragile things in my heart. It turns to play dough in vulnerable moments and it terrifies me how exposed I feel.
I know I am not the only one that is like this, why do we have fear of imparting pieces of deeper things to people?
I didn’t have anything to share that night around the bonfire but the ‘HAULT! NO! DON’T SPEAK!” burst in my thoughts I believe is from being hurt in the past. That’s the main reason I believe we shy away from unearthing ourselves to other people. We are afraid of hurt whether that is in the form of rejection, betrayal, lack of response, or cruel reactions. Past times we’ve been vulnerable, the outcome was negative or not expected.
The fear of man is the Achilles heel of vulnerability.
But we can’t control man. We either risk not knowing what will happen if we share our hearts or never have the full measure of love, connection, and community that is possible. In Brené Brown’s book Daring Greatly she uses love as an example regarding vulnerability:
“I define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. With that definition in mind, let’s think about love. Waking up every day and loving someone who may or may not love us back, whose safety we can’t ensure, who may stay in our lives or may leave without a moment’s notice, who may be loyal to the day they die or betray us tomorrow—that’s vulnerability.”
Faith is essential when we actively choose to live and love with our whole hearts in a world where most of us want assurances before we risk being vulnerable and getting hurt. To say, “I’m going to love wholeheartedly in my life” requires believing without seeing.
I want to risk more and I want to go deeper with others and God but I must continue to commit to breaking down these walls to let in people that may or may not hurt me and may or may not bring amazing things.
There are boundaries in vulnerability. I don’t believe it’s wise to share haphazardly with people because we are on an open and honest crusade. The pendulum doesn’t need to swing one extreme or the other – telling every soul about your most tender stories or sharing nothing with nobody ever.
It’s a balance. There are relationships in our life that have earned our trust and there are also people in our life that God nudges us to share with because our stories are a part of their healing. Often it is a step in our own healing too.
Again, Brené Brown says it best, “We can’t always have guarantees in place before we risk sharing; however, we don’t bare our souls the first time we meet someone. We don’t lead with ‘Hi, my name is Brené, and here’s my darkest struggle.’ That’s not vulnerability. That may be desperation or woundedness or even attention-seeking but it’s not vulnerability. Why? Because sharing appropriately, with boundaries, means sharing with people with whom we’ve developed relationships that can bear the weight of our story. The result of this mutually respectful vulnerability is increased connection, trust, and engagement. Vulnerability without boundaries leads to disconnection, distrust, and disengagement.”
Disconnection, distrust, and disengagement are not qualities God wants in our relationships. He wants us to be connected and engaged in relationships especially with Him. A path to better connectedness is the uncomfortable, beautiful, raw path of vulnerability.
We can try to walk it better together.
