We selectively share on the internet. We project what we
want people to see and hide what we don't. With this blog, I thought I was being transparent. This has always been a place for me to share my worries and fears. When
this blog came back up in conversation, I re-read it (mostly because I knew a
few people were ALSO reading it and…well, see "panicky" up above). I
thought I had shared more, but it turns out even though I set out to be somewhat transparent, I still hid a bunch of things. The
pain I felt every day for 7 months while I had a gaping wound from a failed
mastectomy. The frustration at not feeling like a person let alone a woman. I
felt empty inside—so sick and tired of fighting that most days it was all I
could do to wake up and put one foot in front of the other. But no one saw
that. Because I'm really fucking good at hiding my pain and putting on a
"brave face" and doing what needs to be done because if I don't...?
Brene Brown describes vulnerability as feeling like "...taking off the mask and hoping the real me isn't too disappointing."
Brene Brown describes vulnerability as feeling like "...taking off the mask and hoping the real me isn't too disappointing."
In school, we talked a lot about
"compartmentalization". If you go wiki this, it is different for
therapists than for clients. For therapists, compartmentalization is when we take our
own fears, insecurities, anxieties, preconceived notions, etc. and we put them
"in our back pockets". We tuck them away outside the session door so
we are blank and reflective spaces for our clients. We can be mirrors
and help them determine what they need to feel better. Then, after session, we
are supposed to take our feelings out and examine them ourselves. This sounds
great, right? The problem comes when we are unable to take our feelings out. I have
gotten remarkably good at tucking my own feelings away—so good that I very
rarely truly examine them. Honestly? I tell people all.day.long. to talk about their
feelings and examine why they feel the way they do or act in ways they act. I
am a HUGE HYPOCRITE (and to all the therapists reading this—don't front. I am
not alone in this).
So, why am I sitting here, talking about vulnerability and
emotions? This is the 8th (I think? I can't even keep track anymore) surgery I've had in 4 years. The only thing that gets better is the friends. Time and again, people have showed up and helped us through this. And each time, there has been more love and support (which is frankly a pretty impressive amount to begin with). So, I'm being vulnerable because you've earned it. Through your love and support, you've earned the right for me to be really honest about all of this. About how much this sucks and how fucking terrified I am. About how logically I know that I will be okay, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about dying. About how it would be hard enough for Neil and the boys to lose me, but that it would be exponentially more devastating to lose me at Christmas.Even in sharing this--if I take off the mask and show you all of my feelings and faults, will I be a disappointment? Will you be shocked to know that I am not, in fact, Wonder Woman? That even while I am strong I can also be fragile? Will it be difficult for me to not worry that our every interaction will be clouded by the very knowledge that I have shared my vulnerabilities in such a public and open way? This is my Pandora's box--once these things are out, they can never be put back. Ultimately, though...without my vulnerability, you are only seeing the pretend version of me.
