I Have a Vulnerability Hangover
Type type type, delete delete delete, type type, delete, type, delete delete.
I’m having a hell of a time writing this morning. I’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours with nothing to show for it. Well, nothing except my mounting anxiety and crippling insecurity.
I just want to cry, or scream, or throw up, or curl into a ball, or D) All of the above.
It started yesterday afternoon. I was having such a great day and then BAM! Anxiety. What the heck happened? Why the nose dive?
I’ve been asking myself that all morning and I just realized…
I have a vulnerability hangover.
Yup. This is it. This is what Brené Brown has been talking about. And yes, it feels horrible.
I was out with a friend yesterday and a conversation about the holidays led to one about family, or vice versa. I trust this person, and they’ve been open with me in the past about their less than ideal childhood, so rather than gloss over mine when they asked I opened up. I didn’t tell them everything, but I was honest. We both were. Not in a poor me, pity-party kind of way. Not in a precious, I’m-broken-fix-me kind of way. Just in a Hey, this-is-my-life kind of way. No judgment, no trying to give each other advice. Simply listening and sharing. It was really, really nice.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m still working against those outdated survival instincts that tell me to keep quiet and stay small. Opening up is hard. Vulnerability is hard.
Like anything in life worth having it’s hard, but worth it.
Is it weird that this kind of thing makes me happy? I think it’s the idea that you’re not stuck with your foundation or your wiring, you can rebuild. You can choose what stays and what goes.
It’s not easy. It’s not straightforward. But we can always rebuild.