Being Vulnerable

During treatment, my immunity has been very low, clinically known as neutropenia. Which means I'm vulnerable. But being vulnerable isn't always a weakness, in fact I've found it can be strength...

Here’s the first definition that came up when I googled “Vulnerable”…

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Vulnerable

/ˈvʌln(ə)rəbl/

adjective: vulnerable

1. exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally. "We were in a vulnerable position"

   
   Similar words: in danger, in peril, in jeopardy

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Being vulnerable doesn’t sound like an inviting position to be in, does it? And, it would be an accurate reflection of my physical condition in the first months of treatment. The treatment does a great job at assaulting the rouge cancerous white blood cells and getting rid of them, but, in the process, it also hits the helpful ones pretty hard too. I’ve regularly been considered “clinically neutropenic”, which means my first-line defenders against pathogens are depleted to dangerous levels. My body is exposed to the possibility of harm. Which sounds a little intimidating doesn’t it?

And I think vulnerability is intimidating for most of us.

Yet there is something I value about vulnerability.

In-fact, neutropenia is a well-known side effect of cancer treatments. If I didn’t take the medication that was causing this condition, the cancer cells would continue to have free reign in my body, most likely leading to my eventual demise. So, I open myself to this vulnerability. It’s a risk I’m willing to take to get healed.

Photo by CDC on Unsplash

Getting Metaphorical

For me, being neutropenic resonates at a much deeper level than just a form of physical vulnerability. I invite you to see it as a metaphor for personal vulnerability - emotional, relational, spiritual.

Now, I’m no Brēne Brown, who has brought the idea of vulnerability to the fore in recent years, but let me share a little from my personal perspective and experience…

Just as with cancer and neutropenia, where it’s intimidating to know we’re in a weak and exposed state, with little resistance or backup, we can often be intimidated by our inner journey… our challenges, our weaknesses, our mistakes, our insecurities, our pain, hurts, or trauma. There is a degree of uncertainty and risk attached to opening up these hidden aspects of our lives to someone else. We often harbor a fear of being hurt, judged, exposed, misunderstood, or rejected. We might not want to burden another person with our problems. We might wonder if the love or trust in the relationship is strong enough for the truth. Shame of our weakness, fear of our vulnerability hold us captive.

Shame and fear are like cancer. They grow hidden in the depths of our being. Often unseen and undiagnosed, free to propagate and multiply. Their effects are felt everywhere, but the origin of the disease can remain a mystery. And they like it this way. Shame and fear are insidious by nature. They want to own and restrict our sense of value, our relationships, our vision for our lives, and our daily choices.

And the only way to rid ourselves of them, the only way to heal, is to step into the risky place of vulnerability. The very thing we are intimidated by, the very thing we fear, is the antidote to fear and shame.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

And just like the treatment journey I’m on, it’s only when we choose to get vulnerable, to open the door to our hearts, that hope and healing are infused into us. Given time and regular doses, this infusion penetrates deep into our hearts and spirits and rids us of fear and shame. And as we journey in this space of openness with trusted loved ones, we find freedom and courage. Our weaknesses and hurts are no longer shameful things to hide. We come to understand that from weakness, strength grows.

A personal epiphany: a habit of hiding

While reflecting on my physical state of vulnerability over the last months, I had an epiphany… let me share a little about it with you.

Over my early life, I often lived a dual existence. I presented a facade of a responsible, well-mannered, intelligent, capable, and positive young woman. Beneath the surface, originating from a childhood wounding, there was an infestation of pain, shame, and bad choices growing. I lived with the loud lie that lorded over me “your weaknesses are shameful, don’t let anyone see how awful you really are; no one could handle your mess!” So to prevent people from being appalled by my inner mess, I developed a habit of hiding. This resulted in a downward spiral, a deep dark pit that I didn’t know my way out of. An internal “cancer” that was depleting me of everything good.

Photo by Gage Walker on Unsplash

Thankfully, a hand reached into that pit and pulled me out (& that’s a story of its own). But I had a lot of healing to do. Which meant getting vulnerable. Coming out of hiding. Exposing the things that were hurting me and others to the Light.

As I made this difficult journey, one moment stands out as my moment of greatest vulnerability and greatest freedom. This moment changed everything.

One of my self-destructive habits was being a closet smoker and I was exceptionally talented at hiding it. I had developed a clever set of protocols so that no one would suspect the truth. On my journey out of the pit, I told a few trusted people about this hidden shame. Although they knew about it, but I would still never smoke in front of them. That was too raw, too vulnerable, too much exposure.

Until, one day, I distinctly heard God ask me to actually smoke in front of them; at a massive church conference no less! He had my freedom at heart, but I was terrified. All I could see was the crushing risk of public and personal shame! With hands shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks, and my shame wanting to vomit from my belly, I lit up and inhaled. My loving friends encircled me, extending the grace I needed in that moment. And with each exhale, fear and shame were expelled. I was still loved. I was still accepted. I was not being judged lacking. In that moment the lie that had been strangling me was uncovered and removed. Within two weeks, I had quit smoking. That was over 15 years ago.

This was a pivotal point in my life. The hiding was over. Vulnerability was welcomed in. These days, I choose to be an open book. I know have nothing to fear. Because I believe in and have experienced both the deadly power of shame and the liberating power of being vulnerable.

I am Weak, Yet I am Strong

I’ve recently finished reading a remarkable book called “I am Weak, I am Strong” by Jay Hewitt. Jay is diagnosed with an incurable brain cancer, who after open brain surgery (while awake!), and while undergoing chemo and radiation treatment, trains for and completes an Iron Man to demonstrate his faith to his young daughter.

As he concludes an incredible and inspiring undertaking, his reflections resonate with mine. Jay discovered that his greatest fears were weakness and vulnerability, and it is here, even after achieving an Iron Man, he most wants to grow. He has embraced the truth that God can transform weakness to strength. His words “When I am weak, then I am strong” resonate with my story in so many ways, past and present…

Out and about, people exclaim at how well I look. They are surprised. They know I am having cancer treatment. The treatment is going amazingly well. Very few side effects (bar the neutropenia); all the important blood counts back to normal. Lots and lots to be thankful for.

Yet right now, I’m not feeling it. I feel worried, sad and depleted. I’m tired and sometime exhausted. My capacity feels stretched and my mind muddled. Daily at the moment. There is a dark cloud hanging over me which I can’t seem to shake. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually I am weak. And this weakness is easily hidden if I choose. People can’t see it, it’s an internal struggle, unobservable to the outside eye.

So I sit with the choice we all sit with in our weakest moments. Hide the pain and struggle, put on a facade of togetherness? Or get vulnerable and be honest about my what’s going on? I am weak, yet I know, with God’s grace, this will be eventually be a testimony of strength too. I’m just not there yet. So what do I do in the meantime?

Shame and fear would tell me to hide my weakness, but this is my metaphorical cancer speaking. As I’ve just shared, I was a habitual hider and don’t want to get caught in that trap again.

I’ve realised that, just like when I’m neutropenic, I need outside intervention to stimulate strength. To remedy the neutropenia I’ve been having regular injections of a substance called pegfilgrastim that supports my immune system to build up its defences. In the same way, while I am weak, I need help from others, to stimulate strength in my head, my heart, my hope. I can’t do it alone.

While I am weak, being vulnerable is my strength.

Falling Leaves

So I take small steps to combat fear and shame again securing a stronghold. I acknowledge my current struggle. First to myself (which is often the hardest step to take). Then to God. To my husband. To a few trusted friends.

When I fell flat recently with absolutely nothing but the cry on my lips “Help me”, God led me to picture and a poem prayer … On desperate, cold autumn walk along the edges of a dark deep lake, my eyes were drawn to the golden colours of falling leaves and my fingers found a page with these words…

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

“God of the seasons,
you make even fallen leaves beautiful,
and bare autumn trees a work to behold.
May these same signs within me
now be monuments of holy beauty
singing grateful songs in darker times,
welcoming the springs new light.
- Stahan Coleman, Prayer Vol. 02

We all have seasons of falling leaves (mine is providentially synchronising with the season around me). Where we are fragile. We are frail. We fall. Do we give ourselves permission to feel that fully? To share our bright and fading colours as we fall? The blazing red, sun-scorched yellow, broken brown. In autumn, these trees become bright beacons of vulnerability as they shed their covering. And in this shedding, they make space for new life to bloom. First their leaves must fall, then, bare and exposed, they stand through the cold winter months, strength building inside, until those beautiful buds burst as the sun warms.

This is what it is to walk in vulnerability. To shed our covering. To stand exposed. And trusting that spring will come.

I am weak, yet I am strong. I know from experience that when I have chosen to be vulnerable, asked for and accepted help, exposed my weakness and shared my struggles with trusted others, love and support has flooded my way. It has strengthened me and carried me through otherwise tough times.

This cancer is a weakness. Yet I am strong. So today I choose to be vulnerable with you too. Because this blog is just one example of where my weakness is transformed to strength. And, for me, that makes it worth being vulnerable.

Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

Courage, Love and Legacy | Points to Ponder

Of course this post has been intimidating for me to write and share because I’m being very vulnerable with you all. So just to be clear, vulnerability doesn’t always look like sharing your intimate internal epiphany’s and struggles with a wide bunch of readers (this is my personal choice, because I try to authentically live out my values, because I believe that by sharing my struggles you may find freedom to share yours and because in sharing of vulnerable stories we can connect most deeply).

However, being vulnerable does look like sharing heart to heart with those you know and trust. And the circle of who you trust can expand as you get into the practice of vulnerability and finding the freedom it offers.

Reflecting on what I’ve shared and what’s resonated today, take some time to ponder…

• Who would you identify as loving people in your life that you are or could be vulnerable with?

• How much vulnerability do you invite/permit in your relationships? What would it take for you to grow in vulnerability? Identify a couple of areas you could grow and people you could grow with. Be courageous and let them know you’d like to practice with them.

• If you have trouble with vulnerability, or a habit of hiding weakness, take time to sit in the discomfort of your weaknesses, fears and shame.

  • Imagine sharing one of them with someone you trust.

  • What negative feelings and beliefs come up for you? Empathically allow yourself to feel, identify and name those emotions. To hear those voices. Begin to understand what is standing in your way.

  • Probe your thoughts, feelings and beliefs. Where do they come from? How deep do they go? Allow yourself to journey with yourself to understand root causes.

  • Then challenge them. Play out sharing something you’re struggling with but with a different outcome. A positive one. Invite in grace, hope and healing. Allow yourself to be loved more fully. Allow yourself to be vulnerable.

(If this post has brought up some deep areas of pain for you that you don’t feel equipped to deal with yourself, please do seek a professional therapist who can support you to heal.)