From Where I'm Standing

there are a ton of other things i could say, but i want to move on because that’s not why i sat down to write. i’m writing to you dear friends, because i made a promise to be courageous this year. an aspect of being courageous is being vulnerable, especially about things that are uncomfy. here’s some uncomfy for ya.

this morning i watched a livestream of an Easter service at the church i used to attend in Denver. i haven’t listened to a sermon, gone to church, or opened a bible in a while. like, months upon months. i stopped all those things, not because i grew “lukewarm” or because i got busy. no, i did it intentionally because i finally took some questions off the shelf around and about Christianity. they had been sitting there for a while, unaddressed, even when i deconstructed my faith for the first time 6 years ago. i’m not talking about more “open handed issues” like predestination, hell, gifts of the spirit, or even same sex attraction being sinful. crucial ideologies of the Christian faith were up in the air. dusty questions about salvation, sanctification, the crucifixion, and jesus being god incarnate. i’ve resolved within myself some of those after grappling for 6 months. but two of them are left as question marks even now. 

i’ve gone back and forth between not calling myself a Christian anymore and then a “sortof Christian” because i felt a fraud for claiming to be apart of a belief system when i didn’t hold many, many fundamental beliefs (often political) that the average American Christian held. and i really didn’t want people to make assumptions about my alignment on those topics if i did say i’m “a Christian”. where i was felt too complicated and too messy and too difficult to articulate. i was terrified of walking away from Christianity and telling friends and family, because i wasn’t sure what relationships would be left. fear of abandonment is real guys. but so is the intense need to be transparent and authentic (in case you’d like any more confirmation, yes, i am an enneagram four. hi.). i began simply saying, “i believe in god” and left it at that. i also avoided it because i didn’t want to debate with anyone about any of it. it was far too personal. and contrary to what some of you might think, i sincerely hate arguing. it makes my stomach whirl, my heart skip beats, and tears prick like needles in my eyes but i quickly shove aside those physical reactions in the midst of arguments and debates because i can’t seem weak or else my reality will get denied and i am just so tired of my reality getting denied so i argue sharply and in my defensiveness occasionally sprout off some verbal slap in the face intentionally so they will shut up and not deny my reality further. that was a run-on sentence if ever there was one, but i’m not going to correct it because i need you to feel the anxiety i feel. yes, i fully know that defensive mechanism is super not okay and i’m getting better at letting that ugliness die, instead pursuing connection in the midst of conflict. therapy is so helpful my doods.

back to topic. i don’t know what to refer to myself as when it comes to faith and god and all that jazz. so i’m not labeling myself. what i do know is this:
i believe in love. i believe love wins. i believe that love is enough. and i believe that god is love. 

this doesn’t negate the tension in my head and heart, flooding into my daily life. i have been working so hard to build a dam up against this flood in order to prevent drowning. 

the dam burst this week. 

i thought i was going to drown, then i remembered that i know how to lie on my back and float. so here i am, floating. and in this floating, i hold the tension. 

the tension between suffering and hope. 

between anger and affection. 

between grief and joy. 

the tension between gratitude and disgust. 

between doubt and empathy.

between excitement and sadness. 

for years now, i have grown weary of holding the tension to the point of avoidance. it’s heavy and sticky and unpleasant. i have shifted its weight and grasped to hold on, like when moving an awkward piece of furniture out of a room with a stupidly narrow door somewhere in virginia in the middle of july. sweat streams down your skin inside your tank top clinging to your body and the furniture starts to slip from your wet hands. you don’t know how it got into the room to begin with, but feel a twinge of determination to strategize mix with strong desire to let it fall to the ground so you can get some ice water. the tension. 

today, i am done refraining from picking up that awkward piece of furniture and instead i’m holding it. because in doing so, i am no longer denying my own reality. i am no longer attempting to protect myself. i am no longer separating the black from the white, with one hand pressed to one side and the other halting the opposite side, but letting the two slam together, creating a perfect gray. 

it is in this gray that i find parts of myself again. it is in this gray that i feel an inner peace i’ve not felt since i was a relatively sheltered 18yo, confined by the ease that growing up in Colorado Springs brings. back before i learned about the strength of addiction and the ache of accidental death and anguish of heartbreak. before i understood how precious community is, how new cities can become home, and the unexplainable power of love and acceptance. here, now, is a peace rippling over my toes as if i am standing in the creek in southern Monument with the lightness of my friends laughing, as we splash each other’s thick cotton t-shirts with the words “wing like eagles” printed across them. wings like eagles. yes. that is where i choose to sit in this tension. on the magnificent wings of this mighty bird who looks so fragile and elegant from far away. the tension, the paradox; utterly unorthodox. that is where i am. 

if you find yourself in the gray waters too, i hope you’ll float with me. hold that tension as we sit on the wings of eagles. we are the truth seekers. the joy seekers. the deep feelers. the pursuers of authenticity. the believers in sole answer of love. 

with deep affection and anguish, 

Vulnerability. Even typing that word creates small bubbles of emotions that rise to the surface and pop! Quickly and unexpectedly. My chest has tiny tremors of tension and a few muscles in my arms tense. My breath catches or is held for the briefest moment.. 

For me, vulnerability is often associated with the words “risk”, “pain”, and “fear”. Not all the time though. There are a handful of people I feel free to be my full self with and feel safe to be vulnerable on the reg. I’m extremely grateful for those humans. They’ve stood by my side for years and continuously bring growth & goodness to my life. And they also give themselves permission to be vulnerable with me, which is a gift of such deep value. 

But what do we do when we are vulnerable with someone and they don’t handle it well? What happens when we share parts of ourself with someone, parts that are dark, complicated, messy, and sources of pain? And they respond poorly, dismissing or ignoring what we gave, or worse make fun of it and don’t understand it? Or even more painful than that (for me personally), they walk away? Maybe not even immediately, but weeks, months, or years later. Someone we were vulnerable with, someone who we let in and thought was safe, leaves and we can’t take back the pieces of vulnerability given to them.  Vulnerability is an exposure and a gamble- sometimes we don’t know what will happen after making the choice to be seen and heard. Sometimes we get surprised by someone- maybe someone who had been trustworthy in the past suddenly reacts in a hurtful way to emotions or thoughts we share.

When that happens, we are given two options: to turn inward and allow that situation  to mold our future opportunities of vulnerability and decrease the likelihood of doing so, or continue being vulnerable. In a song I was listening to today, a lyric said, “I would tell you all my secrets, wrap your arms around my weakness; if the only other option's letting go
I'll stay vulnerable.” It caused me to stop and consider if that was healthy and if I do this. Don’t mishear me, I’m not suggesting devaluing our heart and times of vulnerability, giving them to people who continuously respond in a way that is hurtful. I don’t think the artist was suggesting or supporting that either. Boundaries are good and not every is someone we can always be vulnerable with all the time. But how much easier is it to allow walls to grow higher and higher, especially after experiencing some type of hurt after being vulnerable? Trust issues form and we feel justified in hiding away the parts of us we hold close, potentially  not even letting those who are trustworthy in to those spaces we’ve worked so hard to protect. So then, those places never get to show themselves and yes, we are kept safe, but we are also limiting ourselves from being fully known and therefore, fully cherished and embraced. By withholding parts of us in the name of protecting ourselves, we are hindering ourselves from belonging and being cared for. We are taking away the possibility of authenticity and connection, the things every single human craves and longs for. 

We are robbing ourselves of love.

 Rather than allowing the times of vulnerability mishandled or rejected to hold me back and build fake ways of keeping myself safe, I want it to catapult me into growth- to continue choosing vulnerability. Doing so requires immense courage. It makes sense that vulnerability can cause a physical stress reaction, let alone a psychological and emotional reaction. But vulnerability also births and promotes healing, change, healthfulness, and growth. It is the diving board going into the pool of belonging.

... Again, no, that isn’t synonymous with not having boundaries or honoring your heart and emotions. Those can coexist, and that is healthy. 

Lately, I have been smacked in the face with the word, “courage”. Continuing to choose vulnerability is a more specific way I am going to pursue and have courage in the days to come. I want to keep sharing myself with others, building connection and community. I also hope to be a safe enough space for others to be vulnerable in return. I want to listen well, respond in kindness, and never let my emotions decide my actions. I long to be trustworthy, honest, transparent, and respectful. I want people to feel seen and known by me; to feel like they belong and are cared for.  And sure, the reason behind that is because those are core longings of my own heart. 

But, I mean, aren’t they longings everyone has? 

I’d love to hear your own thoughts on this, so feel free to comment or reach out. I realize doing so for some may require vulnerability. I hope you are encouraged to choose vulnerablity courageously, even if not with me. I hope you find a space where you can belong, be known, and be loved. I hope you allow yourself to be that for others- which again, can be an act of vulnerability. You can do it. I believe in you. 

~ yours truly