I've written before about the difficulty of walking the tightrope between caring deeply about what's going on in our country and the world (all the deep divisions and inequities) and staying calm, serene and positive.
The book I referenced on Monday, Braving the Wilderness, by researcher and author Brené Brown, speaks to that, too.
Brown talks about having a "wild heart"—meaning to have a strong back and a soft, open front (strong and vulnerable at the same time). She says, "The mark of a wild heart is living out the paradox of love in our lives. It's the ability to be tough and tender, excited and scared, brave and afraid—all in the same moment.
"A wild heart can also straddle the tension of staying awake to the struggle in the world and fighting for justice and peace, while also cultivating its own moments of joy."
That really resonates with me, especially right now, as I continue to vacillate between deep sadness and intense anger at yet another school shooting last week—and the murder of more of our innocent children. I want us to all wake up and DO something about this. At the same time, I'm trying to maintain my sense of gratitude and grounding. It's exactly what Brown is talking about: trying to "straddle the tension."
What are your thoughts on this?
Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Monday, February 19, 2018
Beliefs about vulnerability
I've long struggled with the concept of vulnerability. Oh, not in my mind. I think being vulnerable is a great idea. It's just that I don't do it so well myself. For some reason, I learned to equate vulnerability with weakness. Is that because of messages about women being weak, messages I have long rejected? I don't know. It doesn't matter why. What matters is that I keep trying to be more vulnerable. I don't need to keep leaping tall buildings in a single bound, landing backward in a slim skirt and high heels! And I don't need to wear that "tough woman" facade to show I can handle whatever comes my way either. I can admit that sometimes I simply don't know what to do. I can admit that sometimes I'm really afraid.
As researcher and author Brené Brown says, vulnerability isn't weakness; and the barrier just might be our beliefs about vulnerability. Yes, she's right—at least in my case. In her latest book, Braving the Wilderness, Brown asks two good questions about vulnerability:
"Are we willing to show up and be seen when we can't control the outcome?"
And "Are we willing to create courageous spaces so we can be fully seen?"
I'm reflecting on those questions for myself. I don't have so much trouble speaking truth to power or truth to BS, as she recommends in her book. But admitting that I really don't know what to do—and admitting to my weaknesses, flaws and fears, well, that's tougher. But I keep trying.
As researcher and author Brené Brown says, vulnerability isn't weakness; and the barrier just might be our beliefs about vulnerability. Yes, she's right—at least in my case. In her latest book, Braving the Wilderness, Brown asks two good questions about vulnerability:
"Are we willing to show up and be seen when we can't control the outcome?"
And "Are we willing to create courageous spaces so we can be fully seen?"
I'm reflecting on those questions for myself. I don't have so much trouble speaking truth to power or truth to BS, as she recommends in her book. But admitting that I really don't know what to do—and admitting to my weaknesses, flaws and fears, well, that's tougher. But I keep trying.
Friday, February 9, 2018
Vulnerability & strength
Can we be both strong and vulnerable? It's something I've grappled with for some time now. So when I read in Brené Brown's latest book, Braving the Wilderness, a quote from Dr. Joan Halifax, Buddhist teacher, Zen priest, anthropologist, activist and author, I was fascinated.
This quote from Halifax opens Brown's chapter entitled "Strong Back. Soft Front. Wild Heart." This is what Halifax says:
"All too often our so-called strength comes from fear, not love; instead of having a strong back, many of us have a defended front shielding a weak spine. In other words, we walk around brittle and defensive, trying to conceal our lack of confidence. If we strengthen our backs, metaphorically speaking, and develop a spine that's flexible but sturdy, then we can risk having a front that's soft and open. ... How can we give and accept care with strong-back, soft-front compassion, moving past fear into a place of genuine tenderness? I believe it comes about when we can be truly transparent, seeing the world clearly—and letting the world see into us."
These words are especially important as we find ourselves in such a divided country. Brown goes on to say, "If we're going to make true belonging a daily practice in our lives, we're going to need a strong back and a soft front. We'll need both courage and vulnerability as we abandon the certainty and safety of our ideological bunkers and head off into the wilderness."
How do you see this?
This quote from Halifax opens Brown's chapter entitled "Strong Back. Soft Front. Wild Heart." This is what Halifax says:
"All too often our so-called strength comes from fear, not love; instead of having a strong back, many of us have a defended front shielding a weak spine. In other words, we walk around brittle and defensive, trying to conceal our lack of confidence. If we strengthen our backs, metaphorically speaking, and develop a spine that's flexible but sturdy, then we can risk having a front that's soft and open. ... How can we give and accept care with strong-back, soft-front compassion, moving past fear into a place of genuine tenderness? I believe it comes about when we can be truly transparent, seeing the world clearly—and letting the world see into us."
These words are especially important as we find ourselves in such a divided country. Brown goes on to say, "If we're going to make true belonging a daily practice in our lives, we're going to need a strong back and a soft front. We'll need both courage and vulnerability as we abandon the certainty and safety of our ideological bunkers and head off into the wilderness."
How do you see this?
Monday, November 7, 2016
We're better together
Last week, I was thrilled to watch on TV as our hometown baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, won the World Series ... after an 108-year drought! Fans of the Cubs are die-hard optimists and have said for years, "Maybe next year." No more next year. This was the year!
Everyone who knows anything about baseball attributes this long-awaited win to real teamwork. Even at the beginning of the season, many said that this could be "the year" for the Cubs because they saw something different in the current makeup of the team—real teamwork and less focus on individual stars. It probably didn't hurt that the game was interrupted by a rain delay, during which Jason Heyward, one of the players, had a little come-to-Jesus meeting with his teammates encouraging them and telling them how great they were. He reminded them that it was about the whole team—about everyone working together. They came out of the rain delay smoking hot and went on to finish the Series!
My point in sharing this is that the same is true for us. It's difficult to really shine when we're trying to do things solo. But when we work together as a team, we're so much better. Better together! For those of us who are vulnerability-challenged, that's a good reminder. Reach out to others. Admit what you can't do and find those who can do what you can't. Share the load. Work together. It's more fun. And it's more effective.
Everyone who knows anything about baseball attributes this long-awaited win to real teamwork. Even at the beginning of the season, many said that this could be "the year" for the Cubs because they saw something different in the current makeup of the team—real teamwork and less focus on individual stars. It probably didn't hurt that the game was interrupted by a rain delay, during which Jason Heyward, one of the players, had a little come-to-Jesus meeting with his teammates encouraging them and telling them how great they were. He reminded them that it was about the whole team—about everyone working together. They came out of the rain delay smoking hot and went on to finish the Series!
My point in sharing this is that the same is true for us. It's difficult to really shine when we're trying to do things solo. But when we work together as a team, we're so much better. Better together! For those of us who are vulnerability-challenged, that's a good reminder. Reach out to others. Admit what you can't do and find those who can do what you can't. Share the load. Work together. It's more fun. And it's more effective.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Time to shed the masks
When we were young, we tried on several masks and suits of armor so we could protect ourselves from hurts and disappointments. We tried on those different masks or personas until we found some that worked to keep us from feeling too vulnerable. And after several years, those masks and suits of armor became so much a part of us that we scarcely knew who we were without them. Or we didn't know where a mask ended and we began.
One of my masks to avoid vulnerability is the one of extreme competence and toughness. Vulnerability to me is when I don't know what I'm doing—or when I feel weak and helpless. I project the image of strength and act as though I know what I'm doing even when I do not. That's what I learned to do when I was quite young. I'm trying to drop those now.
Here's the thing: As we age, we realize that our masks or suits of armor keep us from being completely authentic and real. We begin to realize the value of vulnerability. When I can show that I, too, am afraid and don't really know what to do in a given situation, others can admit to their fears as well. But when I act tough and strong all the time, others are afraid to speak about their fears and inadequate feelings.
So, though we added masks and armor when we were young, we do reach a certain age when we want to remove them. Having said that, I must clarify and say that we don't want to totally rid ourselves of them or pack them away in a closet forever. We can't "let it all hang out" with everyone in our lives. That simply isn't safe. There are times we need our armor of protection. There are some people in our lives with whom we definitely need masks. It's not safe to be unprotected.
You are the only one who knows just which masks to remove, when and with whom. It's your choice. You're the one who knows what authenticity looks like for you.
One of my masks to avoid vulnerability is the one of extreme competence and toughness. Vulnerability to me is when I don't know what I'm doing—or when I feel weak and helpless. I project the image of strength and act as though I know what I'm doing even when I do not. That's what I learned to do when I was quite young. I'm trying to drop those now.
Here's the thing: As we age, we realize that our masks or suits of armor keep us from being completely authentic and real. We begin to realize the value of vulnerability. When I can show that I, too, am afraid and don't really know what to do in a given situation, others can admit to their fears as well. But when I act tough and strong all the time, others are afraid to speak about their fears and inadequate feelings.
So, though we added masks and armor when we were young, we do reach a certain age when we want to remove them. Having said that, I must clarify and say that we don't want to totally rid ourselves of them or pack them away in a closet forever. We can't "let it all hang out" with everyone in our lives. That simply isn't safe. There are times we need our armor of protection. There are some people in our lives with whom we definitely need masks. It's not safe to be unprotected.
You are the only one who knows just which masks to remove, when and with whom. It's your choice. You're the one who knows what authenticity looks like for you.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Vulnerability and weakness
For some reason I grew up thinking that vulnerability is weakness. I know now that it's not, and I'm working hard to change that. I don't have to know everything. I don't have to be tough and strong all the time. I can admit I don't know something. But, oh, it's so difficult when that old script about weakness comes roaring forth again!
So when I read in Brené Brown's book Daring Greatly that, in fact, we're more at risk of being hurt when we are not vulnerable, I sit up and listen.
She says that the word vulnerable is derived from the Latin word vulnerare, which means "to wound" and also "capable of being wounded." Further, she says that Merriam-Webster defines weakness as "the inability to withstand attack or wounding." So she concludes "...weakness often stems from a lack of vulnerability—when we don't acknowledge how and where we're tender, we're more at risk of being hurt."
I admire people who are open and vulnerable. It's one of the things I so love about Brown's books. She talks openly about the things that hook her and how she reacts badly at times to perceived threats. She's open about her failures. I admire that. But it's tough for me to do. And she says that's typical—we all love seeing truth and openness in others but we don't want them to see it in us.
Ah, more work to do, Sonia. There's always something more. But that's what keeps life interesting to a lifelong learner such as me. How about you?
So when I read in Brené Brown's book Daring Greatly that, in fact, we're more at risk of being hurt when we are not vulnerable, I sit up and listen.
She says that the word vulnerable is derived from the Latin word vulnerare, which means "to wound" and also "capable of being wounded." Further, she says that Merriam-Webster defines weakness as "the inability to withstand attack or wounding." So she concludes "...weakness often stems from a lack of vulnerability—when we don't acknowledge how and where we're tender, we're more at risk of being hurt."
I admire people who are open and vulnerable. It's one of the things I so love about Brown's books. She talks openly about the things that hook her and how she reacts badly at times to perceived threats. She's open about her failures. I admire that. But it's tough for me to do. And she says that's typical—we all love seeing truth and openness in others but we don't want them to see it in us.
Ah, more work to do, Sonia. There's always something more. But that's what keeps life interesting to a lifelong learner such as me. How about you?
Friday, March 11, 2016
Feel—& then heal
Our Western culture seems uncomfortable with the grieving process. We praise and admire people for holding up, for staying strong, for re-engaging life so quickly after a loss. It's as though we can't move on quickly enough.
Since I've spent a good deal of my life as a strong, leap-tall-buildings-single-bound person, I understand why grieving can seem like weakness and too much vulnerability. However, it's not healthy to be strong all the time. It's actually a sign of strength to be vulnerable—to acknowledge loss and spend time grieving it. By being open and real about those losses we suffer and spending time grieving them, we allow ourselves to be cleaned out and to heal. And we can move on far more quickly.
I've heard this comment, "You can't heal what you don't feel;" and it makes complete sense to me. If we have no sense of the impact of a loss we suffer, and we can't even feel that loss, how would we hope to heal from it?
When I say this to you, I'm saying it to myself, too. I really need to hear this: Real strength means being whole—experiencing and expressing both joy and sadness.
Since I've spent a good deal of my life as a strong, leap-tall-buildings-single-bound person, I understand why grieving can seem like weakness and too much vulnerability. However, it's not healthy to be strong all the time. It's actually a sign of strength to be vulnerable—to acknowledge loss and spend time grieving it. By being open and real about those losses we suffer and spending time grieving them, we allow ourselves to be cleaned out and to heal. And we can move on far more quickly.
I've heard this comment, "You can't heal what you don't feel;" and it makes complete sense to me. If we have no sense of the impact of a loss we suffer, and we can't even feel that loss, how would we hope to heal from it?
When I say this to you, I'm saying it to myself, too. I really need to hear this: Real strength means being whole—experiencing and expressing both joy and sadness.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Do you ask for help?
I've admitted to you before in these blogs that for too long I've been clothed in a Wonder-Woman costume, attempting to "leap tall buildings in a single bound," and doing the Ginger Rogers' thing of landing "backward and in high heels." Many of us women are familiar with that routine. That show of strength may get us through some tough life situations but, in the end, doesn't always serve us well.
At this stage of life, I'm trying to shed that costume. I'm trying to admit what I need—and actually ask others for help. Asking for help actually is a way to be strong, I know that in my head. It's not easy to break old habits, however. It's a work in progress, for sure.
I like what poet Mark Nepo says about this in The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have: "Asking for help, whether we get it or not, breaks the hardness that builds in the world. ... One of the most painful barriers we can experience is the sense of isolation the modern world fosters, which can only be broken by our willingness to be held, by the quiet courage to allow our vulnerabilities to be seen. For as water fills a hole and as light fills the dark, kindness wraps around what is soft, if what is soft can be seen."
What an image. "Asking for help ... breaks the hardness" and "kindness wraps around what is soft." Hmmm, perhaps I need to put that on a post-it note for my mirror. You, too?
At this stage of life, I'm trying to shed that costume. I'm trying to admit what I need—and actually ask others for help. Asking for help actually is a way to be strong, I know that in my head. It's not easy to break old habits, however. It's a work in progress, for sure.
I like what poet Mark Nepo says about this in The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have: "Asking for help, whether we get it or not, breaks the hardness that builds in the world. ... One of the most painful barriers we can experience is the sense of isolation the modern world fosters, which can only be broken by our willingness to be held, by the quiet courage to allow our vulnerabilities to be seen. For as water fills a hole and as light fills the dark, kindness wraps around what is soft, if what is soft can be seen."
What an image. "Asking for help ... breaks the hardness" and "kindness wraps around what is soft." Hmmm, perhaps I need to put that on a post-it note for my mirror. You, too?
Monday, December 22, 2014
Nurturing compassion
Last Friday I wrote about vulnerability and strength. After I wrote that blog, I discovered some wise words in one of my favorite inspirational books.
In My Grandfather's Blessings: Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging, Rachel Naomi Remen writes, "In attending to our own capacity to suffer, we can uncover a simple and profound connection between our own vulnerability and the vulnerability in all others.
"Ours is not a culture that respects the sick or the old or the vulnerable. We strive for independence, competence, and mastery. In embracing such frontier values we may become intolerant of human wholeness, contemptuous of anything in ourselves and in others that has needs or is capable of suffering. The denial of a common vulnerability is the ultimate barrier to compassion."
Ah, yes—a "barrier to compassion." So it is. When we can get in touch with all the ways in which we are vulnerable and get in touch with our fears, our pain, our weaknesses, our woundings, then we know how much we need others. We know how much we long for a kind word, a helping hand, a hug, the care of others. We know that we can provide that for others as well. And for ourselves.
Compassion and self-compassion. Those are sorely needed in our world today. And we get there by admitting our vulnerability. We do need each other. It truly takes a village to raise each one of us.
In My Grandfather's Blessings: Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging, Rachel Naomi Remen writes, "In attending to our own capacity to suffer, we can uncover a simple and profound connection between our own vulnerability and the vulnerability in all others.
"Ours is not a culture that respects the sick or the old or the vulnerable. We strive for independence, competence, and mastery. In embracing such frontier values we may become intolerant of human wholeness, contemptuous of anything in ourselves and in others that has needs or is capable of suffering. The denial of a common vulnerability is the ultimate barrier to compassion."
Ah, yes—a "barrier to compassion." So it is. When we can get in touch with all the ways in which we are vulnerable and get in touch with our fears, our pain, our weaknesses, our woundings, then we know how much we need others. We know how much we long for a kind word, a helping hand, a hug, the care of others. We know that we can provide that for others as well. And for ourselves.
Compassion and self-compassion. Those are sorely needed in our world today. And we get there by admitting our vulnerability. We do need each other. It truly takes a village to raise each one of us.
Friday, December 19, 2014
What is strength?
I've heard it said that we don't serve others through our strength but through our limitations. For me as an Enneagram 8 and a person who learned to be strong from a very young age, that's important to hear. I need to hear that admitting what I don't know and acknowledging my own woundedness is not a sign of weakness. In fact, it shows great strength to be honest about all sides of my personality. I have to remind myself of that often.
I serve best when I can bring my vulnerable, wounded, complete self to another person—not when I come from a place of superiority. If I am feeling that I have it all together and need to help some poor person who doesn't, I will communicate that sense of superiority. Not helpful!
But if I come to the other person as one who has some wisdom and who also has many questions and issues of her own, I will serve that person from a place of honesty and humility. Much more will be accomplished. And I will leave the other person with an intact self-image.
When I write about facing life's challenges and making tough decisions, you will relate more to what I say when I tell you about those times when I went through the wilderness. It will not help you to hear only about those times I spent on the mountaintop. Think about what this might mean in your life.
I serve best when I can bring my vulnerable, wounded, complete self to another person—not when I come from a place of superiority. If I am feeling that I have it all together and need to help some poor person who doesn't, I will communicate that sense of superiority. Not helpful!
But if I come to the other person as one who has some wisdom and who also has many questions and issues of her own, I will serve that person from a place of honesty and humility. Much more will be accomplished. And I will leave the other person with an intact self-image.
When I write about facing life's challenges and making tough decisions, you will relate more to what I say when I tell you about those times when I went through the wilderness. It will not help you to hear only about those times I spent on the mountaintop. Think about what this might mean in your life.
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