Somewhere between fifth grade and sophomore year, I’d developed the part of my brain that convinces me I suck and everyone will think I’m a failure.
I’ve written about the kind of grief that I think we’re all experiencing, but have a hard time naming and therefore talking about: the grief of losing our former lives.
I stitch all the wonderful photos and stories and captions together to create a mutant Frankenstein’s monster of a person who does all the things and against whom I compare myself.
The perfectionist wants to skip over that emotional detour. To enter into fix-it mode, to say, “Pull yourself together, now is the time to help, to be extra productive!” This vulnerability is not a detour. It is a necessary pit stop along the way.
My commitment is to keep with the monthly theme of vulnerability and trust. As I think about those concepts in the context of the worldwide pandemic, I wonder what they may have to do with the intense anger, the nearly obsessive indignation and self-righteousness, that I feel.
Because we’re all so vulnerable, it means we have to put more trust in each other to take care of the collective. Because of this added trust, we become even more vulnerable to the actions of others.
If I can find the words here, and put them out into the world, I know that I have the words to say. If I can say them here, I can say them out loud, to the people in my life.
This month's theme: Vulnerability and Trust
The more I talked about my blog, and the more questions I answered about it, I became curious: what is this blog all about? This curiosity put me, almost accidentally, in a place of vulnerability.