I was once asked, “Does being vulnerable get easier because you write non-fiction each day?”
The answer is no.
Does falling out of love get easier, just because we’ve done it once?
Does dealing with grief become easier, just because we’ve had someone else close to us die?
Every single day I feel a little afraid to hit the publish button and share my transparent truths with 30,000 people.
I speak of rejection, I speak of a grief that haunts, I speak of shame with sex and masturbation, I speak of finding my father for the first time, the process I had in my abortion—and it’s scary every single time.
I don’t grow a skin and get tougher.
Vulnerability doesn’t get easier.
I just shut my eyes, squirm and as Elizabeth Gilbert poignantly put, “Do my dance anyhow.”
Being a transparency teller doesn’t mean I’ve figured out a way to beat the fear.
I just tell my fear when it’s not welcome and ignore it when necessary.
Sharing truth, authenticity and transparency in our world is worth the fear.
I was asked by a reader on Instagram last week if I would start a thirty day vulnerability challenge.
Instead of doing yoga, juicing, or not drinking for thirty days, the invitation was to start a movement where people commit to sharing something vulnerable every day.
Peel another layer back and let it breathe into the world—wide open for all to see.
I loved the idea.
By being our authentic selves, we give other people permission to do the same.
Being vulnerable for thirty days can benefit not only ourselves but all the people around us to have “me too” and “I’m not alone” moments.
Every morning I’ve been waking up and choosing things that give me the vulnerability squirms and share them specifically.
The crazy thing is, most of our shames and fears are universally shared and will be connected with.
Often the thing we are most afraid to say out loud — because we fear judgement from those around us—is something the people who love us won’t even raise an eyebrow to.
I remember telling a dear friend on a long walk in the woods something I hadn’t told anyone before—something that was so scary to say out loud it made me cry.
I was afraid if I said it out loud, he would think poorly of me or never want to talk to me again.
He listened gently and immediately responded with a similar experience he had.
He made fun of me a little for thinking it was something so big that he would think less of me, or not want to be in my life.
He hugged me and we carried on—that was it.
My big, scary, shame-filled thing was something he experienced–and many others had.
We repress these things. We hide them.
The big scary monsters in our closets and our purple shame elephants often visit the hearts of people we walk beside.
Something interesting that happened so far was a few people participating in the challenge wanted to start a private group to share posts in.
To me this defeated the point of the entire thing.
Vulnerability isn’t private. It isn’t safe.
It’s scary and open and real.
This challenge isn’t about being conservatively vulnerable–it’s about being liberally out loud vulnerable.
I don’t want to sit in a group and be vulnerable privately with other people being vulnerable.
What’s the risk in that?
This challenge is a space for some of the squirms to be said out loud.
To practice rawness, nakedness and to show our bare beating hearts to the world.
It’s scary and it’s rewarding as all hell.
To take my layers I’ve peeled back and show them to the world.
To be vulnerable in new experiences with new people.
I want to breathe vulnerability into the entire world and let the world hide, squirm, stare, gawk, shout and cheer me on.
I’m here to cheer all of you on too.
You can join me in the challenge and share your posts on Instagram (or Facebook) with the hashtag #30daysofvulnerability. You can also add #experimentswithlove to partake in Red Flag’s “love laboratory” to expand awareness of love in its many forms.