To Be Honest… Pt. 2

Lesson: Learning to Express Vulnerability and Boast in Weakness

I’ve been sitting on a post for a while titled “To Be Honest” with the lesson being to learn “how to express vulnerability, release control, wash, rinse, repeat … and be ok”. Catchy, right?? 🤮 Ironically, it wasn’t as vulnerable as it could have been; but rather, it was me intellectualizing life as my former therapist accurately said I do quite often. So if you’re wondering where part 1 is, there isn’t one … or at least, not one that I plan on releasing.

So I’m starting part 2 with a real attempt at vulnerability. So here it is.

…Well, now I pause because I can’t find a next sentence that doesn’t garner a typical Christianese response. I over-intellectualize while most people over-theorize or over-emotionalize, and that makes it difficult for me to connect with people (despite being highly emotional myself). But I don’t have any fancy words for this one, so my ask is that you hold your “change-your-perspective” responses, and intellectualize with me. Feel. But intellectualize. Feel deeply. Very deeply. But filter those feelings through objective(ish) intellectualization. 

Vulnerable Truth

I’m alone. I don’t have much, but that doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. What eats at me day and night is that I have no one. No one who wants to seek me out or simply be present with me.

The other day, my sister received a text from my grandma saying how upset she was after staying up all night waiting to hear from her grandchildren on her birthday. The call didn’t come. Personally, I didn’t know it was her birthday. Now, I know that’s bad, but hear me out. 

My grandmother is a difficult person to have a relationship with. As much as I love her, in my adult life, I’ve had to come to terms with the sad reality that she is the most emotionally detached person I’ve ever met. I remember having a conversation with someone after moving away for college, and somehow it had come up that I’d never seen my grandma in person. Not even a video. This was so normal to me that I didn’t even think twice about saying it. I didn’t know how weird it was to have a grandparent with means living in the states and traveling frequently but never having traveled to visit her grandchildren.

The Truth of Parenthood

There’s so much more to explore here, but what I’m hoping to express is that I’m in a very painful place as I recognize that I have no parental figures in my life. My mother’s mother died from cancer. Her father was never in the picture. My father’s father was never in the picture. My father’s mother (the aforementioned grandma) doesn’t care enough to pursue relationship. My father is an extremely unhealthy person to have a relationship with. And my mother recently also passed from cancer. 

And I’m here alone.

My Daily Truth

The average American spends most of their waking hours at work. This is why studies show that quality of life improves when workplaces value a healthy, well-connected culture. I work at a place that values community. We talk about it often. But if I’m honest, I get paid to create spaces for people to find connection with one another and with God, and the former is an experience I never feel a part of.

I’ve struggled to feel like I belong. In fact, I feel like an outsider everywhere I go. I feel the social anxiety creep up as I walk into rooms full of people I’m supposed to engage with but I know deep down there’s not a place for me. I mean literally. No one who’s going to call my name, hope or expect for me to sit with them, heck, even save me a seat maybe, or talk to me as if I matter.

It reminds me of being that kid in a grown-up’s world, holding my recorder on the red carpet with celebrities and tons of experienced media professionals engaging and networking in a way that I just wasn’t quite ready for. That’s how I feel at work. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience. That’s how I feel everyday everywhere.

And I’m here alone.

The Truth of Friendship

Today, one of the leads at my job was encouraging us to find time to sabbath and take vacation days this summer. He asked each of us if that’s something we’re good at, and I had to be honest and say no. Work is just about all I do. He asked me why with all sincerity, and I responded that I enjoy working. I mentioned something about work being a hobby of mine and semi-jokingly shrugged it off because I didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of our staff team. 

The truth is, while I do enjoy my job, and while I’ve been a workaholic since I started my first business at age 14, the real reason I’ve never taken a day off is because I have nothing and no one to go to. My birthday is this month, and I’m not excited because I have no one to share it with.

I mentioned in a recent blog post an interaction I had with someone where I’d asked to connect more. I’d admitted that the conversation didn’t go well, but I didn’t admit that I had said some things I probably shouldn’t have. It wasn’t even about this person per se. I’ve experienced tons of rejection in my life, and I was prepared for that conversation to end in rejection. But it’s the overarching theme that broke me. The theme that no one is interested in me as a person. 

As an extreme introvert, it can sometimes be gruelingly difficult for me to initiate relationships, but I try to because I care deeply and because I can’t complain about not having something that I don’t pursue. Sometimes, however, I wonder if I fail miserably at loving and seeking out people well. People’s affirmations, contrarily, tend to express the opposite and that they enjoy being around me, but I still fail to feel sought after and loved. 

And I’m here alone.

The Truth of Tragedy

One of my favorite movie series is Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy. In The Dark Knight Rises, there’s a part where Alfred is talking to Bruce Wayne trying to get him to see beyond all he’s lost and to pursue life. He says these words, “I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I always knew there was nothing here for you except pain and tragedy…” Later, in Batman’s weakest moment, Bane tells him this, “I learned here that there can be no true despair without hope. So, as I terrorize Gotham, I will feed its people hope to poison their souls.”

I’ve never understood people who cry during movies. Maybe because I’m so fascinated by storytelling, I usually fixate on the writing, the cinematography, how well the actors sell each moment, the overall production, and general intentionality. But every time I watch this movie, I see myself — broken in a world where it feels like there’s nothing for me but pain and tragedy … in a world where I am privileged to experience the most beautiful hope, but a hope that is just out of reach enough for it to poison my soul as I get a front row seat to watch it be gifted to others.

I have no parents. My family was torn apart at my mom’s passing. I don’t really have core friendships. 

And I’m here.

Alone.

Showing Up to Gift the Beautiful Power of Presence

I’ve thought a lot about tragedy. About all the things that could possibly go wrong in a person’s life as I’ve experienced many of those sorrows. And the funny thing about tragedy is that it always draws people out of the woodwork. Most people would think, Look at all the people who love you. When, in reality, the question worth asking is: If these people love you so much, why did it take such severe tragedy for them to show up?

At the news of my mother’s passing, I was held by people who will never so much as give me the gross churchy side-hug on a normal day. I’ve been asked heartfelt questions by people who have ignored my existence and made me feel worthless.

I’m not bitter; I’m hurt. But all I can say here is that there’s a special feeling you get when you know someone loves being in your life. And if you have that someone, don’t take them for granted, and don’t ever let them go. 

The Bonus Sections

If you’re hoping to quickly finish reading this post (no hard feelings; I know it’s long), I’d say this is a good point to skip to the final section. If you feel like you’re already in too deep, then let’s continue the ride, and let me tell you a story.

A few of Jesus’s disciples were out fishing, or so they thought. They were out all night giving it all they had — professional fisherman, mind you — and they caught nothing. 

Jesus shows up and instructs them, “Cast your net on the other side of the boat.” Now this idea was ludicrous. To think that if you move a few feet while fishing, you’re going to have a dramatically different experience really makes no sense. But after a full night’s work to no avail, they were desperate. 

I’m probably in the minority here, but I don’t think this story is about obedience at all. Jesus had just been crucified, and from where the disciples stood, they couldn’t even tell that it was him. I mean, dead people don’t talk.

I’d say this story mimics Jesus’s initial statement he had made 3 years prior when they had just begun their friendship: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.” 

Where is Your Net?

Metaphorically, we find ourselves on one side of the boat all the time, don’t we? There are always people who naturally get our attention. There are always people who we naturally gravitate toward. There are always people we just happen to end up in relationship with. Through this story, I believe Jesus is asking us exactly what he asked the disciples, “What about the other side of the boat?”

A Painful Realization: Sometimes I’m the Fish

Life for me has been hell lately and ladened with problems, and I feel like I’m in this alone. As an introvert, I don’t mind being alone and enjoying solitude. But I’m constantly lonely and isolated.

The other day, my family was visiting, and my niece walked into my room as I was doing my hair. I greeted her, then sent her to the living room where her mom had instructed her to be. She went to the living room only to come marching back to my room less than a minute later, smiling gleefully.

Later that evening, when it was time to leave, one of her brothers started to cry. As much as he loves being home playing with all his toys and 57 siblings, he said, “I don’t want to go home! I want to stay at Uncle Christian’s house.” 

As sweet as that sentiment was, it broke my heart. Not because he was crying — there are far more legitimate reasons to cry that he’ll sadly have to experience in his lifetime. It was time for him to go home, and he’d have to deal with that. So why did it break my heart? I was heartbroken to realize that the only people who really want to spend time with me — who’d go out of their way and find joy being around me — are toddlers … toddlers who know very little about the world and people and worth.

In Closing: The Shift

Before I close, I’d like to pivot here to talk about a word that I struggle with. Or, more accurately, a concept … what Paul refers to as a “secret” to life that he had learned from experiencing a shift from abundance to utter desperation. 

This lack of connection has left me paralyzed in numerous areas of my life. We weren’t meant to do life without people. The ONLY thing God had a problem with post-creation was the fact that mankind was alone. And this paralysis is always to be expected when one has to live life isolated, contrary to what God would have called good in the garden. But here’s the reality, I can’t control if people see me or how they might see me.

I hate this level of honesty and vulnerability because it shows how weak I truly am. But I’m realizing that I serve a savior who was so secure in his strength and godship, that he chose to display weakness. To literally make himself weak for my sake. 

We live in a culture that takes pride in strength. Paul said, I will boast in my weakness, so Christ’s power may reside in me. “So I take pleasure in weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and in difficulties, for the sake of Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9b-10 CSB).

Isolation and a lack of connection leads to weakness, but Paul brings nuance into the picture as he declares how God’s strength can be evident in us even as we are sincerely weak. That’s the truth that I’m preaching to myself now. How does this work? I don’t know. But I believe it has something to do with this secret Paul says he’d learned. That word. That concept. “The secret to contentment.”

Being alone will always leave me weak, but my weakness doesn’t have to leave me paralyzed. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I can be who I need to be. I can do what I need to do. I am weak, yes, and I’ll boast about it. But in my weakness, I am strong. 

And here, I’ll leave you with the words of Jesus because I can’t do better than him. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9a CSB).