Vulnerability has many looks.

I was reading “Dear Writer” by Maggie Smith at the pool and thinking about vulnerability. I didn’t bring my journal because I didn’t think I was in the mood to write. (Who was I kidding!?) So I spoke into my phone because the thoughts came anyway!

Sometimes I feel like I’m really good at vulnerability because I’m really good at sharing my feelings and expressing them. Internally and externally and with others and by myself. But true vulnerability takes courage. Courage to allow yourself to really be seen. This involves feelings, sure, but it involves so much more.

It’s allowing my perspective on something to be voiced. It’s saying what I think about something before I’m really sure. It’s sharing why I feel strongly about something even when someone smarter than me disagrees or debates me. It’s being wrong and giving myself grace. That is vulnerability to me.

Feelings aren’t hard for me — to find, to name, or to verbalize. But thoughts are. Because I am “good” at feelings, feelings can be a cover-up for what is actually vulnerable for me.

Vulnerability comes in all shapes and sizes.

It’s crying in front of someone or sharing feelings.

It’s telling someone no. It’s also telling someone yes.

It’s moving your body in a new way that looks or feels silly or uncomfortable.

It’s making a mistake and moving on.

It’s showing up to a class at the YMCA for the first time.

It’s speaking up in a conference room and asking a question.

It’s sharing your opinion at a table knowing you’re going to be the only one that holds that view.

It’s telling a friend that they hurt your feelings.

It’s wearing a new outfit that feels loud and abrasive but it’s what you love.

It’s saying you’re sorry.

Vulnerability has a lot of looks. It’s all about being open and being exposed. When you are truly vulnerable, you are opening yourself up to the possibility of being harmed. There is natural risk.

Feelings are not risky to me. Me telling you what I think about something? That is full of risk.

This surfaces sometimes when I write. I am still working through what amount of editing of myself is helpful or necessary. To put it simply, I’m just not interested in being a jerk! Sometimes I shave off some edges because who wants to be argued with on the internet? But every day that goes by, the less cares I’m trying to give about that. Because if I’m making sure that what I say is something everyone could love and digest, then am I really saying anything at all?

Over time, I’ve had to learn the goodness and safety of sitting in rooms with people that I disagree with. (Still working on this.) I’ve learned to actually become suspicious of rooms that only mention one side of something. I value seeing multiple views and it is often true that many perspectives of one thing can all be true.

I’m not a natural contrarian, and I don’t desire to say provocative things just for the heck of it. I do not lean antagonistic. My goal is rarely ever to stir things up or poke the bear. But there are words and thoughts inside of me that might accidentally do this, and these days I’m in a place where I am deciding if it will be worth it. (Of course, I already know the answer.) It’s just a matter of taking the risk. Of being vulnerable.

My habit of writing publicly is a full-grown adult now. I started blogging in 2008 so it’s fair to say I’ve been thinking about these kinds of things for 18 years. It feels like an appropriate time to embrace some new levels of tension and growth.

I want to hear from you. What does vulnerability look like for you?