Vulnerability and I (the remix)

 

“There is nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

 

When we make plans god laughs. Last year I was adamant about killing the blog but look who's here again.

"Hello, my name is Doreen and I backslide on my resolutions."

It's not always a bad thing though –sometimes circumstances change and we have to adjust to the new situation. Take right now, for instance, last year when I chose to kill the blog I thought it had served its purpose. But had it really? I think not.

 

I'm evolving, or at least I'm trying to. In my journey to growth, I sought therapy. It's one of the bravest things I've ever done – I'm not good at admitting that I need help. I'm even worse at talking about my worries and troubles. And yet there I was talking to a therapist and coming clean about my fears, my tears, and even my horrible habits.

 

Something came up in those conversations, something that I've known all along but I was hesitant to address –I have an unhealthy relationship with vulnerability. It terrifies me and I'm willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid it.

 

I will laugh about my problems. I will repress my feelings. I will wait for my immune system to deal with the problem because I can't stomach having to explain my symptoms to a doctor. I will sabotage my job because I'm too scared to ask for a consistent niche. I will pick a fight about X when I'm angry about Y. I will say yes when I mean no. I will say no when I mean yes. I will lie to myself - anything to avoid vulnerability.

 

I've built this fake persona, my therapist calls it masking, of a ditzy, carefree person, who has their whole life planned out. I'm polite but distant. We will talk about you but never about me, or we'll talk about me but never about you. I'm a pro at dodging difficult topics. I’ll play off my failures as jokes.  I'm the quiet, aloof, mysterious girl.

 

But at what cost? See, repressing your feelings and avoiding vulnerability is a great short-term solution to discomfort. But in the long term, it fucks up your life.

 

You'll lose your dream job because you were afraid of calling your employer. Or you'll settle for someone horrible for you. He'll mislead and mistreat you and you'll hate him for it. But you'll act like you're okay and even though you cry each time you think of your situation.

 

You'll let people walk all over you because you're too scared to talk about your discomfort. You'll move to a new city for university and at graduation, you will still not know much about the city because you are afraid of getting lost in the city.

You'll lose great people because you let small issues fester.  You'll push away the people that are right for you because you are scared that thay will not like the real you. You'll freeze up at the most inconvenient time. You'll get assaulted and make light of the situation even though it kills you every day - you'll let them get away with it too because you are in denial. In your mind, you are perfect and perfect, and perfect people don't get assaulted.

 

Let's not talk about the anger- you'll have so much repressed anger and you will explode at the most unexpected moments.

 

"We were okay an hour ago, why are you so angry?" they'll ask.

 

"Nothing," you'll say.

 

Or alternatively, "I was giving myself time to digest what you've done."

 

Your outbursts will baffle even you- why am I so angry? You'll read books on anger, you'll Google 'how do I stop being so angry.

 

Your therapist will solve the puzzle for you - you are trying to set boundaries in the least vulnerable way possible.

 

How do I know this? Because it's my reality. I've ruined so many good things and settled for terrible things because of my relationship with vulnerability. I've been a terrible person, and in anger, I've said a lot of horrible things because of this problem.

 

My fear of vulnerability has compromised all aspects of my life. From my health to my relationships, to my career.

 

So how do I fix it? How do I learn to become vulnerable? I think that posting a blog admitting that I have a problem is a nice start. The first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.