March 14, 2015

Today, it’s just me & my Vulnerability.


Today, I don’t have answers.

I don’t have a fiery spark in my step.

I don’t know the right things to say.

I don’t have a fancy string of sentences that fit together like my Grandmother’s favorite pearl necklace.

I don’t feel super secure, effortlessly elegant or perfectly put together.

Today, it’s stripped down, stripped away.

Today, it’s just me and my vulnerability.

And today…

I am shaking and squirming in the polka-dot rain boots of my soul.

I am doubting and overthinking each word that flies out of my mouth.

I am comparing myself to shining souls, feeling less and less effervescent by the second.

I am feeling scared and small, like a gauzy whisper of a girl.

So, I will share this with you, instead of pretending I’m incredibly inspired or know how to find my way to a sparklier place.

Because the truth is, I don’t know.

Because the truth is, I’m scared shitless.

And, that, that, oh my goodness—that—feels so oddly perfect.

So, I sit here, feeling strangely free, basking in the stark light of this vulnerable place.

I feel raw and unsure.

I feel uncomfortable and squirmy.

But, why oh why, should that not be celebrated, too?

Why do I expect myself to know?

Or be certain?

Or be perfect?

Why is it so scary to bare it all on this page and tell you how I really feel?

Life, as I know it, is not about being secure, certain, shiny or perfect.

I don’t often remember this.

Life feels much more like this gossamer, deeply uncomfortable, always shifting, slightly shattered, vulnerable space.

Today, I want to try to swim around in it and settle in, even if I’m trembling.

Because today, it’s stripped down, stripped away.

Today, it’s just me and my vulnerability.

And, today…

It feels like I can begin, for the first time, from the shaky bones of this scary place.

“The difficult thing is that vulnerability is the first thing I look for in you and the last thing I’m willing to show you. In you, it’s courage and daring. In me, it’s weakness.” ~Brene Brown



Because the Chores Can Wait 5 Minutes.


Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: Flickr/ tippi t

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