Vulnerability – the greatest measure of courage and healing

Let’s talk about vulnerability. 

I was talking to a wise friend a couple of days ago. The conversation was heavy. It was equally important. I was braving the wilderness in my heart. To say it was super messy is an understatement. I felt raw. It hit my core. I was menstruating and fatigued. My mind was all over the place with thoughts from an uncomfortable encounter from the night before. I needed to escape from the overwhelming flood of anxiety and perfectionism washing over me in the torrential storms of my psyche when I revisit the past during my periods. I wanted the intensity of that moment’s energy to melt into the ether. My throat was holding tight to a knot protecting me from shedding tears, as I feared opening up my timid heart. My body was contracted and holding tight to resistance. My spirit was ready to let go. In unison, I could feel the urgent need to be hugged and told that I’m okay. I wanted a gentle hand around me so I could surrender.

I kept going. I didn’t know the exact right thing to say. I knew deep down my intention was to speak on behalf of the uncomfortable messy parts of my inner self. Words didn’t make much sense. I trusted that by walking and talking I could shift internally. I wanted to be witnessed. Authenticity matters to me, as does speaking about the raw and real parts of my life that shaped me, especially when those moments of truth are called for. The parts that felt impossible which led me to be who I am and the work I do today. Naturally, I was feeling the vulnerability of speaking from the heart. I don’t do this often, I said to myself silently. It never felt safe to do this. Another excuse. I continued to mumble words and counterarguments to sooth my vulnerable heart, as I was witnessing my ego struggle to carry the pain with grace. I asked “can we have a structured conversation about things that make more sense?” Structure. It matters, it makes sense. We need it. But how could I give structure to momentary grief and pain? I understand that I needed to tap into the wisdom of my body before giving voice to the experiences that make me and all of us human. But how could I have put my vulnerability in a box? 

I continued. This time, I exhaled. I gave myself a few minutes to adjust. I took long breaths. I couldn’t make sense of my words and my friend’s reaction to what I was sharing. The past seemed convoluted and painful to revisit. It was so uncomfortable to talk. I was just there reviewing what had happened and clearly failing at expressing myself. 

I let that be. I was messy. And that was okay.

In a few seconds something happened; I slowly noticed my energy flowing. I felt more centred. I could breathe better again. I was able to feel the present moment and brought myself back to my body. The facade of perfection then became clear to me. I continued acknowledging myself during that encounter. I was still holding on tight to my “perfected” identity; the strong one, the heroine in my story that sometimes plays god. But something else was happening too. I was initiated to let go. The activation had begun. 

I honoured myself in that moment. It took courage to go against the conditioning of my mind. What if my image was shattered in that instance, said my ego? And what a wild thought that was. Yes, I felt utterly powerless to the pain and vulnerability. But who decided that being human is to have no pain or loss? And whose voice feeds this facade of perfection? For some of us on the sensitive and anxious spectrum, it can feel like a burden to be in a human body and encounter the nuances of pain in life. My whole being knows this too: we can’t compare our experiences or pain with others. There is no measurement for pain. Shame and guilt are conditioned emotions. Holding on tightly creates resistance. Our conditioning creates loops and patterns. We are quantum potential awaiting to be untangled from cords that keep us stuck to old identities and stories no longer needed. We are pure potential. We are not defined by any setback, nor are we defined by such a flawed perception of human life created by a world built upon shaky foundations of the generations before. 

I was vulnerable. Yes. I said many flawed things. I was brave for showing up nonetheless. I respected the process. I was grateful for having such a profound moment of connection that led me to inner alignment as I was bleeding the month away. So I came back home feeling the need to sit through the night. I continued with my stillness practice under the sun the next day. Allowing the light to cleanse my whole being. Letting go as I was menstruating, just as we’re moving full-bloom from summer into fall. My body was shedding layers no longer needed to welcome my autumn-self. This was a gift to connect with the feminine energy that supports my growth. This was an inner shift. I’m still sitting in the ripple effects of that auspicious encounter in gratitude for all that happened.  

What a radical idea to courageously surrender. Who told us to hold on so tightly? Why do we carry guilt or shame for the uncomfortable and unforeseeable waves of life? And why do we sit in perpetual suffering and indulge in the feelings that often take a full minute of unconditional presence and deep breathing to pass, if only we muster up the courage to feel? And who said painful experiences make us weak and unworthy? And why do we go through lengths to avoid feeling the depth of our feelings when the only way out is through sitting in overwhelming storms of pain?  

As I sit here in writing, reflecting on the last two weeks, I see how tightly I’ve been holding onto an identity I built around perfection because of something that happened many moons ago. Yes, it sometimes hurts. In spite of that, my journey has been about allowing and letting go. My path has centred around surrendering to the passage of time and the unfolding of life. And I’ve equally been invited to take space for new experiences outside those tumultuous years by letting go of ALL the narratives I created around my identity. I’ve chosen that I’m no longer defined by what happened. My past has shaped me into the powerful woman I am now. 

I realize that joy is a radical act of self love too. More than ever I want to tap into the child-like playfulness that I feel lacking in the world. I want to celebrate my wins and accept the failures. In my element, I’m wild at heart. Child-like. Pure. Resilient. Sensual. Endlessly creative. Curious. Joyful. Untamed. And I know I can’t deny myself of the joy I deserve by hiding behind perfection and fear. What is perfectionism at its core? A mask to protect the “forbidden” shadows that quietly hide in a corner, guarded. My intuition is loud and clear: that facade is fading away and I once again feel human. My heart may be timid, but it’s learning to open up wide again. I’ve allowed myself to be fully human, and it started from a split second of acknowledging an old wound. Then came the voicing of my pain, imperfectly. This is me naked acknowledging that my sister’s death in September 2003, shaped the trajectory of the life I live today. I feel her energy. And I’m no longer trapping myself in a prison of shame over her death. I forgive the psychosomatic disharmony I’ve experienced since. It belongs to my past. I forgive all of it; all the stories and complexities. I let them all go. As I’m writing this, my body’s exhaling. I feel my shoulders dropping and my heart flowing yet again. It feels serene.

So there goes another layer. Beautiful work, says my wise mind. I feel proud. Really really proud. I’m smiling at the process. I faced myself head on! My spiritual assignment was about acknowledging the trigger in favour of my healing. I couldn’t have done it alone, truly. Then began the process of coming home to myself. It feels so incredibly powerful. I feel full and creative again. And I’m so grateful for having been witnessed and guided to the truth. 

I now invite you to look into any moments showing up for you, on this powerful new moon. The icky shadows hiding quietly, awaiting your attention and care. Trust me when I say this, it’s easier than it feels. You have the innate wisdom and ability to walk yourself through the discomfort. Emotions have a knack for passing if we allow them to pass. We’re made for the work. You can always ask for help too. This is unconditional self love. Be messy. Trust yourself. Take a courageous leap of faith. You deserve the real YOU. 

All my love,
Behnaz