You Can't Always Get What You Want

I was raised to believe that if I worked hard enough, I could achieve anything. This statement–repeated overtly to me in my early years as fact more than aspiration–has proven true in my thirty-some years of life experience. I devoted more time to studying than most, and I earned straight A’s from first grade through college. (Okay, okay…there was that one B in penmanship in fourth grade.) As a veterinary nurse at an animal hospital, I initiated several improved processes that led to my promotion to supervisor. I wanted to become a yoga teacher, so I spent twenty hours a week in a training program while working full-time at my real job.

Yet despite my track record of success with this maxim, I’ve finally had to acknowledge that not everything in life can be overcome by sheer force of will and applied effort. I fought harder for my marriage than I have ever fought for anything in my life, yet it didn’t survive. But in the process I learned countless other important lessons about how to be a better partner, friend, and human.

I learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, to let myself cry in front of people, and to be honest about how I’m feeling instead of putting on a brave, happy face.

I learned to ask for help. Then I practiced accepting help when it was offered, without letting my pride and ego get in the way.

I learned to let myself be angry–to explode with anger sometimes. I learned to accept my outbursts of intensity without judging myself for them. I eventually learned appropriate ways to express my anger and that it often stemmed from my lack of boundaries. I learned that a few minutes of very loud shouting can cause laryngitis.

I learned to trust. I learned to trust in my intuition because my mind prefers denial. I learned to trust in the goodness of other people and that the messy events of the past two years were necessary for whatever comes next in my life.

I learned that no one can read my mind. I learned that it is my responsibility to ask for what I want. I learned to stop feeling guilty for having wants and needs.

I learned that I’m not responsible for how other people feel. I’m responsible for my own feelings and for having kind and honest intentions when I communicate with others.

I learned to listen and to keep listening even when I don't like what I hear. I learned to let painful words hang in the air without shutting down or becoming defensive. I learned to listen to my partner’s perception–entirely different than my own–and accept that neither one was right.

I learned to say, “I’m sorry.” I practiced saying it without justifying my actions or making excuses. I learned to examine my words and actions and make an apology when one was needed. I learned how powerful this short little phrase can be.

I learned to forgive and forgive again. I practiced forgiving even when I didn’t receive an apology. I learned that practicing forgiveness without establishing boundaries is an invitation to be hurt again. I learned to forgive myself for my own mistakes, which was the hardest of all.

I learned to love, despite all the obstacles. I had the opportunity to love deeply and openly even when walls were thrown up and doors slammed in my face. I learned that love is not static nor is it just a feeling­–it’s also a choice. Sometimes it’s an easy choice and sometimes it’s a grueling one, but it’s a choice that I make day by day, moment by moment.

When I look back on this period in my life, I feel conflicting emotions. There’s been so much sadness and disappointment, but the pain has been a catalyst for curiosity, introspection, and growth. Until now, I’d always been able to get what I wanted by being persistent and working hard. What I wanted was to save my marriage; what I got was totally unexpected and maybe exactly what I needed. 

V Is For Vulnerability

A few months ago a friend mentioned a TED talk that she thought I should watch. It was titled The Power of Vulnerability. Considering how vulnerable I was feeling in my life at that time, I was extremely interested in learning how I might use that yucky feeling to my advantage. Clearly I wasn't the only person who had this reaction, because the Brené Brown talk has almost twenty million views on TED's website (only about six of which can be attributed to me!). If you haven't seen it, I recommend finding twenty minutes to sit down and listen.

Vulnerability was a word I was using long before I was introduced to the video, because I couldn't seem to escape that feeling. It had become my shadow, glued to me at all times except for those occasional moments when something lit me up like the sun standing directly overhead. After my husband left, I felt like there was something wrong with me. No matter what he might have said, it felt like I wasn't enough. I was ashamed and embarrassed, and I don't have to tell you how awful that feels.

It's not that I had never been in a situation where I didn't feel worthy before, I just had never felt it so deeply–deep enough to be completely overwhelmed and incapable of hiding my feelings. That's what was different this time. I couldn't silence the uneasy feelings of vulnerability by convincing myself of my worth, putting someone else down to make me feel better, or even pretending to be okay with enough gusto that anyone (including myself!) believed it. So there I was feeling raw and naked, parading my mess–my faults, my mistakes, my fears–in front of everyone I knew.

I could write post after post about my experiences with vulnerability over the past several months (and if you come back you'll probably hear about this again!) but what I want to say about it today is that I started to notice positive things unfolding in my relationships during this period. They were happening even though I was exposed, with both my shiny and ugly parts on display. I felt like a magnet that had been flipped over, suddenly pulling people closer. Strangers engaged with me at an unprecedented rate. People that I knew peripherally asked to spend more time with me and opened up to me. I felt strong enough to share things about myself that I hadn't talked about before, so that friends I had only known for a short time understood me as though they'd known me forever. I felt more of a connection to others, even the people that were just passing through my life.  

Until I watched Brené Brown's video, I didn't realize that the source of this new connectedness was vulnerability. When we share our true selves without filtering out the messy parts, we encourage others to do the same. And this is what builds intimacy–taking the risk to be authentic in our relationships and discovering that we are more the same than different.    

Learning to embrace vulnerability has been one of the most important lessons of my life. I can't claim to practice it without fail, because sometimes the risk of getting hurt seems too great and it's tempting to build walls instead of break them down. But even in these situations, I am trying to have the courage to be fully myself and to know that no matter what is in there, it's enough.