Tag Archives: Brené Brown

The Path to Vulnerability

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Hi, I’m Juliet. I’m a grateful believer in the Lord Jesus Christ and I’ve been hiding. I know it’s silly. After all this work, this writing, this wringing of my heart onto paper. But now that the paper is bound together and wrapped in a cover that I love, and even fought for…I hide. What is that?Same Dress Cover June 2015

I check the mail each day, heart pounding, hoping to see if the paperback proof has arrived. Dreading the truth that once I hold it in my hands, it is real. And a real book must have readers. And readers have opinions and thoughts and feedback and criticisms. And what if I’m not strong enough to stand beneath the weight of those things?

Weeks, no months now, have passed with me barely writing anything new, hardly communicating with the platform of readers I’ve been tenderly, carefully growing for the past two years. Yes, I’ve been busy. Yes, I went back to teaching full time in January. And yes, I’ve been editing and re-editing my manuscript and waffling about the cover design. But mostly, I’ve been hiding.

Brené Brown is one of my heroes. If you haven’t seen her Ted Talks on “Listening to Shame” and “The Power of Vulnerability,” please do yourself the favor and set aside 40 minutes to view them both. Even though I’ve seen them, AND read her book, Daring Greatly, I need a refresher course on vulnerability, because, for weeks I keep asking myself, “Why am I doing this?” I need a Texas-style, Brené Brown kick-in-the-pants reminder, because somewhere along the way toward publishing this memoir, I’ve slipped in a puddle of shame, and fallen into the sinkhole called fear. I’ve been tempted to, as Brené would say, “stand outside the arena.”

You see, as she says in her Ted Talk on shame, “If we’re going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path.” I need to find my way back to you, the people I’m writing for. And I know vulnerability is the way. I just don’t know what I’m afraid of. Perhaps I’m afraid of my book not being perfect.Farm RoadMs. Brown says, It’s “seductive” to stand outside the arena, and think we’re going to wait until we are “bulletproof and perfect” before we do anything.

I’ve fallen for the seduction. I’ve been writing and re-writing. Editing and re-editing. Waffling between the “cutting edge” designs of my hired graphic artists and the book cover image I had in my head – the one that inspired the title of my memoir. But then I re-read this quote from Brené Brown’s shame talk: “And even if you got as perfect as you could and as bulletproof as you could possibly muster when you got in there, that’s not what we want to see. We want you to go in… and…to dare greatly.”

You really don’t want “perfect,” do you? You want real. Right?

My book is not perfect. I am not perfect. I am afraid to be this real, this raw, this transparent. I don’t want anyone to read my memoir -even though I’ve written as honestly and frankly as I could about the equally deadly addictions of codependency and cocaine. I feel like I’m opening my soul for the world to pick apart like a bunch of hungry vultures. (Forgive the analogy. I’m sure it’s more than a little harsh. But, that’s how I feel.) But, the “world” isn’t the audience I wrote for. I wrote for the people who will “get” me because they have suffered the singular pain of loving a person with a life-destroying addiction. Or, they love someone who loves someone caught in the claws of addiction, and they long to better understand what their loved one is going through.

I want those people to read my memoir. Why? Because I want you to know that if I can do this, you can, too. You can be real with God and believe that He hears your cries when you are alone in your bed after the worst of betrayals. You can survive heartbreak and heartache and the deep physical ache of brokenness in all its forms. And you too can tell your story in such a way that God will use it to bring hope and healing to someone else’s brokenness. I want you to be inspired with hope by my story – a story of God’s faithfulness to me despite my imperfections, my poor choices, my stubbornness and my own unfaithfulness.

So, I am choosing to dare greatly. I choose to enter the arena. I will continue, by God’s grace and mercy, to write and speak and share my story. I will make my book available to real flesh and blood readers. I will brace myself for any criticism and trust God to thicken my skin as I share my soul with you. I will continue to blog here. I will not hide any longer.

Thank you for letting me share.

Juliet

“Shame, for women, is this web of unobtainable, conflicting, competing expectations about who we’re supposed to be. And it’s a straight-jacket. Empathy is the antidote to shame.” Brené Brown

https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability?language=en

http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame?language=en

Sowing and Reaping

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“Sharing something that you’ve created is a vulnerable but essential part of engaged and Wholehearted living.” Brené Brown

Whenever I share something I’ve written with you, the unknown reader, I feel vulnerable. Naked. Like when I’m trying to exchange my wet swimsuit for dry shorts underneath my beach towel and the wind whips the towel out of my hands and… there I am, EXPOSED! (That only happened once, but it was really, really embarrassing!) Some of my recent guest bloggers have expressed similar sentiments. Some whom I’ve asked to share their stories have declined, understandably refusing to be “that vulnerable.” I get it! But I want to thank those who have had the courage and taken the time to write and share. I would dare to say we have all been blessed.

This week, a couple of exciting things happened, so I wanted to take this blog for myself, even though my last-chapter-deadline is breathing down my neck. First, I found an editor who was willing to take a red pen to the first 16 chapters! She’s a no-nonsense-detail-oriented person who likes to do it the “old fashioned” way, in her hammock with a hard copy in hand. So, I had the joy of taking my flash drive down to Staples and having all 299 pages printed and bound with a little black spiral. To feel the weight of that typed manuscript in my hands was sheer bliss!Manuscript

As I praised my Savior and thought of the agony that went into that writing, I remembered the verse, “The LORD has done great things for us, Wherof we are glad.” (Psalm 126:3 NKJV) And then, “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” (verse 5)

Yes, Lord! I certainly sowed this work in tears, but I thank You for the joy I feel today as I hold it in my hands! Thank You for being with me on this journey. Amen.

I thought of sowing and reaping as I shared with my Honey what else had happened at Staples. After living under a cloud of shame for years about what my former spouse was doing (drugs) or not doing (loving me well), I rejoice at every opportunity to discover that I am now married to someone who makes me feel proud of who he is and what he’s doing, even when no one is watching. And they say kindness doesn’t pay…

“Thank you for being such a nice person!” I said as I burst through the door with my spiral-bound manuscript in hand. “You saved me thirty bucks!” I proceeded to tell my Honey that when I went to pay for my manuscripts (I’d decided to get two, one for me and one for the editor), my wallet fell open to expose our joyful engagement picture. I’d already swiped my Visa card to pay for the eyebrow-raising total when the clerk glanced at the photo and said, “Is that your husband?”

“Yes.”

“He gets a lot of work done here. He’s always so nice and courteous when he comes in. I’m sure he has a rewards account with us.”

With that, she asked a couple more questions, deleted my transaction, and re-rang my total. It came to about half of the original!

“Have a nice day!” she said as I nearly skipped out the door. I had just reaped what my godly husband had sown. It was a little redemption of things I had thought were forever lost back in the days when reaping what a husband had sown didn’t bring nearly as much joy.

God sees us. People see us. What are we writing about ourselves in this world? Whether we have a hard copy or not, we are being read! What does your manuscript look like?

“Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life. And let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” (Galations 6:7-9 NKJV)

P.S. Please pray for me and this ministry. Please follow my blog. Share my blog. Comment on my blog. All of those things will help me to be noticed by a publisher. Thank you!Business Card

The Bridge of Vulnerability

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How deep The Father’s love for us… His timing is impeccable. He sees us. He knows what we need, even when we aren’t sure. May I share with you my most recent revelation of His love?

So, I’m simultaneously reading Daring Greatly, Brené Brown’s bestseller, subtitled, How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent, and Lead and working Step 8 in my Twelve Step group. If you’re unfamiliar with the 8th Step, it goes like this: “Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.” There’s a lot that is scary in “working” Step 8. It’s definitely an opportunity to prepare for the risk of being vulnerable with those who may or may not receive my attempts at amend-making or be interested reciprocation.

I’ve got my list made. I’ve asked God’s Spirit to reveal to me whether anyone else should be on it. One of the questions in my Step work this week asks, “What people have I injured by withholding response or relationship?” Ouch. Isn’t it so much easier to just remain silent? To allow years and decades to pass without responding to or engaging in relationship with someone who has crossed our life’s path and gotten injured in the crossfire of our own pain and the ways we’ve numbed it? If you’ve ever worked a 12 Step program, you know that the one who ends up injured most when “I” refuse to face truth is “myself.”

Honestly, I’m scared of Step 9. I know it’s coming. Making a list is one thing. Making “direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others” is quite something else. I’m nervous about what “they” might do or say, or worse yet, what they may not do or say. I’ve tried this before, with an ex-boyfriend whom I left in a hurtful situation. He didn’t acknowledge my angst. Didn’t accept my apology. I’ve not forgotten the aftermath. But I want to.

Guess what Our Loving Father did for me? Right in the thick middle of Step 8 and reading all about how vulnerability is (according to Dr. Brené Brown) “the core, the heart, the center, of meaningful human experiences,” He gave me the opportunity to know how it feels to be on the receiving end of “making amends.” He allowed me to hold the vulnerability of another person in my hands and to recognize the truth of what Brené Brown shares in her powerful book: vulnerability is not weakness. Instead, it is “the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity.” Brené says, “If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.” (p. 34) After last weekend, I am in full agreement.Vulnerability

Here’s the short version of how it happened: My biological father, whom I have not seen in four years, bought me a plane ticket to come for a visit to Colorado, where he lives with his wife and two teenaged sons. My husband came, too. We had a great time hiking in the Garden of the Gods and enjoying the beauty of a crisp Colorado spring. Then the blizzard came. (I can call it a blizzard – we were visiting from Florida, where it was 92 degrees Fahrenheit when we left home.) The chill forced us to sit by the fire one evening and talk. Talking can be pretty terrifying when it’s something you and your father have spent a lifetime avoiding.

The backstory may sound all too familiar to you (or to your children): My parents separated when I was 5. Divorced by the time I was 6. By the age of 7, I had a new stepdad and lived on the opposite side of the United States from my father. We rarely saw one another for most of my life. I was in high school before I made an internal decision to be intentional about getting to know him. We tried, but it was difficult because we lived in different worlds and connecting often felt awkward.

So, here I am last weekend, freshly turned 44, sitting in my father’s living room reading Brené Brown’s book on vulnerability, when he does one of the most outrageous, courageous, vulnerable things I’ve witnessed. He starts sharing his heart. With me. I will honor his privacy by not disclosing the contents of that conversation, but it was sealed with tears of anguish for the years of regret, and a passionate apology from a father who wished he had been able to be more of a daddy to my sister and me. I was dumfounded, frozen and staring. Then moved by compassion to embrace him with love.

As I lay in bed later, reflecting on the things my father shared, I was reminded of the way they parallel so many of our God stories. We may wander through life feeling abandoned, alone, and unloved, never realizing that Our Father agonizes over us. Unaware that He loved us from the very beginning and never once stopped, no matter how far away we were. He’s spent eternity longing for relationship with us: forever allowing us the freedom to choose to be “found,” always aware that true intimacy can never be forced, even by the Creator of those He longs to be intimate with.

I thought about the fact that my relationship with my earthly father shifted when I made a conscious effort to reach out to him as a teenager. That is when the walls began to slowly come down, brick by brick. Unfortunately, many partitions remained intact…until last weekend, when, with one giant leap of vulnerability, he bravely knocked down all remaining barriers, opening a way for healing to take place. It was a rare and beautiful thing to observe. He did Step 9 without even realizing it!

Being on the recipient end of “making direct amends” revolutionized my looming Step 9 and made it seem not so scary after all. I now understand how burden-relieving it is to witness the courageous vulnerability of a person seeking to make things right. I can only pray that I will be that brave.

Our earthly fathers are important. Whatever the status of our bond, it’s a relationship that matters. Unfortunately for so many of us, the fraying of fatherhood has deeply impacted our view of God and our perception of His view of us.

My Father's Bible

My Father’s Bible

Perhaps we can learn something from my experience with my father. Maybe it will be simply this, “For God so loved___________(put your name right here) that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16, KJV). God longs for an eternal relationship with us. He has done everything within His power to provide for that. He has loved us from the beginning. Unconditionally. Even when we didn’t know it. The choice is ours. Do we accept His gift, or do we reject it? Will we take His ministry of reconciliation and spread it to those whom we, in our broken humanity, have injured? Will we dare to be that vulnerable…with Him and with others? I pray so. There is abundant life waiting on the other side of the bridge of vulnerability. Just ask my father.

How Deep The Father’s Love For Us… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7fGEOH2XiY

 

Peace For Hurting Mothers

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Vulnerability

Tulips In Rain by winter_can_wait

“He was always such a good boy.” She spoke quietly, sunlight from the window illuminating every furrow in her forehead. She wasn’t particularly pretty. But perhaps she had been before grief had taken over her features. Moving toward the light, she scanned the spring-green countryside before continuing.

“I loved him as mothers love sons. Fiercely. Madly. He was always my favorite, but I tried not to let it show. I couldn’t help it. He just had that way of pulling my heartstrings.” Turning from the window, she settled herself on low cushions and closed her eyes for a moment. “He was different. Special. I really wasn’t sure where life would take him. But I just knew he would go far.”

Then the tears came. Just one or two, from beneath dark lashes. She fought them bravely, struggling for the composure that had held her together through the years as fingers pointed and tongues wagged in not-so-soft whispers that cut like shards of glass.

“I was thrilled to hear of his adventures with those eleven friends of his. News traveled quickly when something miraculous happened. True, a couple of them were a little rough, especially those sons of Thunder! But from what I understood, they had each other’s backs. And the power of God was surely with them. Why, he even healed the sick and cast out demons. He shared the stories with me himself during his last visit home. I just don’t understand what happened.”

She shook her head as if trying to jar the memories loose. “If they were unkind to him, he never told me. He didn’t give a hint of betrayal. They always seemed like such a close-knit group. I mean, for three years they were together, night and day. I cannot fathom what went wrong. How could such a terrible thing happen? That’s not how his ministry was supposed to end. That was not how he was supposed to die. Oh, Judas! My Judas!” Her tears could no longer be contained as violent pent-up sobs shook her small frame.

Can you feel her ache? Identify with her heart? Do you know that mother? You know…the one whose son is in juvenile detention? Or rehab? Maybe she’s the one whose daughter overdosed a couple of years ago. Or whose sweet grandbaby grew up to be a perpetrator. Or the one who isn’t a mother at all because she had one too many abortions, wrecking her chances of conception. What is she doing for Mother’s Day?

Perhaps you have been the mother, or the wife, or the sister who is being whispered about. Or maybe it’s your husband who ran that stoplight while driving under the influence. Or your teenager, who didn’t see that guy on the motorcycle because she was texting her boyfriend. Is that your daughter-in-law, whose black eye reminds you of the days when your son’s father did the same to you?

Mother’s Day makes some mothers want to curl up in a tight ball of shame and hide behind their wall of pain while their friends are opening pink Hallmark envelopes and going out for brunch. Chances are, you know one of those shame-filled ones. She may be in your pew, your prayer group, or your circle of friends. She may be in your mirror.

Dr. Brené Brown defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” In her book Daring Greatly, she cites some of the responses people gave when asked for an example of shame. Here are a few, as found on p. 70:

  • “Shame is having someone ask me, “When are you due?” when I’m not pregnant.
  • Shame is hiding the fact that I’m in recovery.
  • Shame is bankruptcy.
  • Shame is my DUI.
  • Shame is infertility.
  • Shame is telling my fiancé that my dad lives in France when in fact he’s in prison.
  • Shame is Internet porn.
  • Shame is hearing my parents fight through the walls and wondering if I’m the only one who feels this afraid.”

 If I could speak for the mother of Judas, I could probably add, “Shame is having your son hang out with Jesus Christ for three years and blowing it all by betraying Him and then hanging himself from a tree.”Judas' Tree

Maybe it seems strange to talk about this on Mother’s Day weekend when everything is meant to be roses and kisses. But holidays are some of the most difficult times for people, especially those in recovery. And if we are truthful, that should probably include most of us. Maybe this isn’t your particular holiday to mourn, but I can almost guarantee there is one.

Thursday would have been my husband’s mother’s birthday. She passed away just last spring. He did what I’m encouraging each of us to do when these things come up. He reached out. He called his sisters. He called his dad. They remembered Mom and comforted one another with words. They brought one more measure of healing to the wound that is losing a loved one.

Was it Judas’ mother’s fault that he went rogue and is best remembered for betraying the Son of God? Should she have had to walk in shame for the rest of her life because of her son’s adult choices? I don’t know if she did. But it would certainly be tempting, wouldn’t it? Shame makes us want to hide. Shame says, “You are a bad mother.” Shame says, “It’s your fault your kid turned out that way,” or “You don’t deserve to have kids anyway, after the kind of life you’ve led.” Shame is a liar.

After 12 years of researching shame, Brené Brown suggests four elements of what she calls, “shame resilience,” which, she says, “always ultimately lead us to empathy and healing:

  1. Recognizing Shame and Understanding Its Triggers.
  2. Practicing Critical Awareness.
  3. Reaching Out.
  4. Speaking Shame.”

 If this Mother’s Day isn’t looking too bright, for whatever reason, may I encourage you to practice courage and reach out to someone? Own your story. Don’t let it fester. Don’t bury it. Talk about it. Share it. And talk to yourself the way you would talk to someone else if you really loved them and were trying to comfort them. Let’s be kind to ourselves, and kind to one another.

Not every mother’s Mothers’ Day is joy-filled. But every mother deserves to know that “Every good gift and perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning” (James 1:17). Peace is one of those good and perfect gifts. Whatever your story, may His perfect peace that passes all understanding guard your hearts and minds (Philippians 4:4) today.

*Thank you, Winter_can_wait, for sharing your beautiful images with us. More from Ami can be found at http://twenty20.com/winter_can_wait

She Dared Greatly

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I‘ll simply call her, “She.” because you may know her. “She” may live in your community, too. “She” could wear high heels or flip flops, but you’ll recognize her, not for her shoes, but for her heart. Next time you see her, whoever “She” may be, give her a “Woo hoo!” for being vulnerable…for living Wholeheartedly. Let her know you’re in her cheering section!

She wore her rhinestone-pocketed jeans tucked into cowgirl boots. Her naturally curly hair was blonde and straight, her smile bright with expectation. I have not been quite so proud of a grown-up for a long time. Part of me wanted to run onto that stage and wrap my arms around her. Instead, I shouted, “Woo Hoo!” Texas-style, as she stepped up to the podium. Within seconds, I was silently glued to the pew, not wanting to miss one word of her precious gift to Jesus.

You see, she had promised Him that she would tell her story, after He, in a quiet moment, had asked her for it. At first, she shied from the real story, wanting to hide behind the fluff of other, brighter stories that would roll more gently off the tongue. But He persisted. She, wanting to please Him after all He has done for her, for us, relented in humble obedience.

I could feel a shift in the atmosphere as the women shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Most of us had been there, right there, in those shameful places she bravely described with tears in her voice. But most would never dare stand in rhinestones and boots baring our souls before hundreds of strangers. I applauded God as they applauded her. She resonated deep within souls who had come with unspoken expectations, but were completely unprepared for the splendor of sheer vulnerability in blue jeans. By allowing herself to be vulnerable, she connected to the hearts of her hearers. More importantly, she connected her hearers to the heart of God.

photoFor my birthday, I received  Brené Brown’s new book, Daring Greatly, How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. In the introduction, she states, “Connection is why we’re here. We are hardwired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it, there is suffering.” When we, or someone we love messes up badly, or is stuck in addiction, it’s so easy to hide behind a wall of shame, pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. But, according to Dr. Brené Brown, when we do that, we are not living “Wholeheartedly.” In fact, we may not really be living at all. We may be merely existing.

Dr. Brown says on page 9 in her book, that wholeheartedness is “a way of engaging with the world from a place of worthiness,” and that (p.11-12), “The Wholehearted identify vulnerability as the catalyst for courage, compassion, and connection. In fact, the willingness to be vulnerable emerged as the single clearest value shared by all of the women and men who I would describe as Wholehearted. They attribute everything – from their professional success to their marriages to their proudest parenting moments – to their ability to be vulnerable.”

When I read that, my immediate thought was, Then all Christians must be “Wholehearted” people, because we believe that we are worth the very life of the Son of God. But in my spirit, I knew for certain that not all of us who proclaim Christ as Lord are living our lives from a Wholehearted stance. Way too many of us are hanging our heads on the way to the altar, if we can even crawl out of bed and make ourselves go to church. Sometimes we give up trying because the masks become too heavy to hold in place. It’s easier to just stay away. Our shame and fear have kept us stuck in a place that is far from the abundant life Our Savior has called us to live.

But, not my rhinestone cowgirl. No way. She’s living abundant life. She’s living Wholeheartedly, pouring out the oil in her alabaster box as she throws herself at the merciful feet of Jesus, just wanting to give the most precious contents of her life back to Him. I loved her for that. I loved Him for giving her the courage to be just that vulnerable.

Brené Brown’s research has shown that the Wholehearted “have developed practices that enable them to hold on to the belief that they are worthy of love, belonging, and even joy.” She says, “those who feel lovable, who love, and who experience belonging simply believe they are worthy of love and belonging.” (p.11)

We are, each and every one of us, worthy of love, belonging and joy! “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1 NIV) You are loved. You are worthy of the greatest gift heaven has ever bestowed. Will you walk that out today? Go ahead. Pull on those boots! They were made for walkin’ – Walkin’ out your wholehearted, vulnerable life. Make your Jesus proud. “She” sure did!

http://katiecouric.com/2012/09/13/daring-greatly/ (Click HERE if you want to see Brené Brown discuss vulnerability with Katie Couric.)

 

 

Shame and Vulnerability Unmasked

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“Shame on you.” “Shame on him.” “Shame on me.” My mouth has formed those words many times in 43 years. My mama said them when I tried to sneak back into the house after a broken curfew. My Grandma ‘Dessa said them when “so-and-so’s husband stepped out on her and ran off with that little tramp.” My great-grandmother said them when she felt bad after burning her hand and swearing out loud in front of us kids. I grew up with shame.

In elementary school, I was ashamed that we lived in a mobile home on someone else’s property. In high school I was ashamed when my coach kind of joked that my fashionable “high tops” weren’t really basketball shoes at all. (They were all my single mama could afford.) In college, I was ashamed that my car had no paint and roared through campus in a not-so-cool way because the muffler had fallen off. When I got married at 24, I felt shame when I accepted a diamond ring that had been worn by my husband’s ex -wife. When I got divorced 13 years later, I carried the shame of a wasted womb to the courthouse.

If I had believed the enemy’s lies, they would go something like this: “You are unworthy to hang out with the kids who have their own swimming pools and whose parents drive Audis. You shouldn’t even play sports because you’re can’t afford the proper gear. Everyone is going to laugh at you and your stupid Balloon sneakers. And forget about trying to date any of the “cool” guys at college, they are WAY out of your league. And that ring, well, obviously you aren’t worth the trouble it would take to get a new diamond. Or at least one that your husband didn’t buy for someone else! And that wasted womb, well… that was your own choice. You made your bed. Now lie in it.”

Image Credit: www.polyvore.com/teal_blue_sneakers_vintage_1980s/thing?id=60963037

Image Credit: http://www.polyvore.com/teal_blue_sneakers_ vintage_1980s/thing?id=60963037

Okay, I did believe those lies. Maybe not consciously. But I made agreements with the enemy about who I was based on what kind of home I lived in, what clothing I could afford, and what car I drove. I suffered on the inside for making poor choices and pretending that I was okay with them. Shame and pride and fear created a nasty concoction within, yet I smiled on the outside. I never verbalized any of that. Just worked hard. Got good grades. Did my best to be a good crack-wife. Pretended to be okay. Slogged through the swamp of shame.

Dr. Brené Brown speaks eloquently (if you can forgive a few swear words) on shame in her Ted Talks piece, “Listening to Shame”. http://www.ted.com/talk /brene_brown_listening_to_shame In her talk, she says, “Shame is the swampland of the soul.” I get that. I’ve lived that.

Before Dr. Brown gets to the actual shame part of her talk on shame, though, she speaks a lot about vulnerability. (I also recommend her Vulnerability talk: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability ). It resonated with me when she said she had a, “Vulnerability Hangover.” I kind of felt that way after my previous post. I just wanted to hide. To lay low. I felt kind of naked. And the negative self-talk came, “So, was it worth it to put yourself out there like that?” I even began to second-guess some pieces that I was planning to put into my book. But then, one dear reader had the courage to make the following comment on my blog post, “Unashamed.” She said, “Beautifully written. Someday so many people will be able to tell you how much your honesty and transparency has helped them. Keep releasing the fear of what people think – What I thought while reading this is how awesome that you are sharing it and how it will resonate with so many more people than you can imagine!”

I actually wept. Just sat here dropping tears onto my lemony-patterned table cloth. Thank you, God. That someone sees. Is touched by what You and I are doing here. Thank You, for those words of encouragement.

Brené Brown goes on to say, “Vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage.” And that it is the “birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” So, this is what I want to say today: If you feel stuck in a place of shame, take a step of courage and be vulnerable. Find a safe place to be real. Dr. Brown says that, “Vulnerability is the pathway back to each other.” Find a 12 Step group like Celebrate Recovery, where you can tell your story. Attend Al-anon. Risk a friendship. Just be real and give another person the opportunity to say two of the most powerful words in the universe, “Me, too.”

Isaiah 50:7 For the Lord GOD will help me; therefore shall I not be confounded: therefore have I set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed.

Shortcake

P.S. The photo may appear unrelated to this post, but it sure looks yummy, right? Seriously, I made Strawberry Shortcake for my Honey and me after we found some fantastic strawberries at Costco on our date night last Monday. And I’m not ashamed to say that I ate every bite of the one in the above photograph, in sweet memory of my Grandma ‘Dessa. Loved her so much – wish I could share with her some of the things I’m learning about shame. I’m afraid that she lived and died in its ugly swampland.