Vulnerable

I am really terrible at being vulnerable. It was difficult for me to even type the word “vulnerable.” Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Ick.

This past week has been hard. The shooting in Connecticut has rippled in the minds of a lot of us, and I can’t seem to calm the ripples.

I am not the best at handling terrible happenings. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I was in high school, I adopted a really weird and twisted way of coping with bad news. Whenever I love someone so, so much, ( I’m talking love beyond measure, love without limit, love like the kind of love you are lucky to have), I imagine that person dying. Yes, I said dying. I go so far as to force myself to consider different ways that person might die. I envision myself at their funeral. I make myself imagine my daily routine without them being a part of it. I feel like I have to experience the worst before it actually comes. When my mom was sick, I was so scared she would die. The thought of losing her literally made me physically ill with fear. In an attempt to prepare myself for the worst, I tried to experience the worst. At the time it seemed like a logical approach. I felt the need to beat bad stuff to the punch. If I had already thought of the most terrible thing in the world happening, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if it actually ever happened.

After my mom recovered when I was in high school, I quit thinking these awful thoughts. For a while, I didn’t feel the need to prepare for some sort of catastrophe. Unfortunately, when my mom was diagnosed again in 2011, the thoughts came back. However, now I have expanded my death visions (what a cool name by the way) to other people. I tell myself this is a good thing, really. It just means that I have more people in my life to love. The weird thoughts have expanded to my dad and Cody. (Side note: I have a killer eulogy for Cody if he ever kicks the bucket). I know. I know. It’s not funny. I’m pretty sure this confession is enough to make me sound like I am completely unstable. Maybe I am.

Since my mom’s most recent diagnosis, I do feel like I have made some strides in a positive direction toward dealing with cancer or death or elementary school shootings. I have made a more concerted effort to focus on the present and the people in my life who I do love so much. I make myself appreciate the moments that things are so perfect. I also read a lot about people who have had to cope with some sort of grief. Recently, I was reading Kelle Hampton’s blog, entitled “Enjoying the Small Things,” in which she writes about the shooting in Connecticut and dealing with loss and love. In the blog, Hampton quotes the book Daring Greatly by Brene Brown in which Brown says:

“Don’t squander joy. We can’t prepare for tragedy and loss. When we turn every opportunity to feel joy into a test drive for despair, we actually diminish our resilience. Yes, softening into joy is uncomfortable. Yes, it’s scary. Yes, it’s vulnerable. But every time we allow ourselves to lean into joy and give in to those moments, we build resilience and we cultivate hope. The joy becomes part of who we are, and when bad things happen—and they do happen—we are stronger.”

I don’t think that quote could be more fitting for me and for anyone who loves someone. I spend so much time preparing for something that may never happen. I have been “test driving” despair since I was 16. I worry and worry and worry about the awful, instead of just living in the beautiful right now. I have squandered entirely too much joy. It makes sense that enveloping yourself in the good emotions of this world will equip you for the bad emotions. I have spent too much of my life with the exact opposite approach (i.e. death visions). I have to do a better job at being vulnerable and being grateful that I have so many people to love.

When I read that quote for the first time, I thought of all of the families of those children that were killed. I assume that being a parent, especially to a 6 or 7 year old, forces you to be vulnerable unlike any relationship you have ever experienced. I pray that those families did not squander joy. I hope they spent every minute with those babies loving them and needing them and appreciating them. I hope that they never once guarded themselves from the pure joy that being a parent allows. I hope that the parents and grandparents and sisters and brothers in Newtown leaned into the joy that each of those kids brought to their lives. I hope there wasn’t a moment of joy squandered, because when you stop and think about it, it is truly all we have to do. To love each other. And experience the joy of today. And be vulnerable. We have to have faith that eventually all that love and joy will in fact become part of who we are.

Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Vulnerable…it was easier that time.