Nobody enjoys feeling vulnerable. In the moment, it’s very difficult to embrace the power that accompanies that openness.
Vulnerability is debilitating for me. I feel nauseous, immobile, overwhelmed, and almost immediately exhausted. My jaw tenses and can barely speak. I don't cry or burst into tears. Instead, I run.
Earlier this week, I listened to a podcast about gratitude. Inspired, I sat down and closed my eyes.
I took a deep breath and allowed myself to really visualize what I wanted my life to look like ten years from now. I pushed away the doubt of these things actually happening. I squashed the self-judgement at my audacity for dreaming so large.
I envisioned every single detail down to the charities I support and my morning routine. I felt naked. I felt terrified. I felt nervous. It was the first time in my twenty eight years of life that I had really thought about what I wanted and what it actually looked like. What I wanted. Not what I thought I should want, not what I was taught to want, and not what I was afraid to ask for.
I wrote feverishly for three pages, including every detail down to the color of my manicure or the brand of stroller I would push. It poured out of me. Things I didn’t even know I wanted or had pushed away because they weren’t what I thought I deserved.
I stared at this list of unbelievable goals for five minutes. Goals that others would read and roll their eyes or question who in the world I thought I was. It felt private and personal and so vulnerable. I felt so vulnerable for actually putting what I want in the next ten years down in writing.
I also felt brave.
If writing down the things I'm afraid to want can change my relationship with feeling vulnerable, imagine what it could do for you. I transferred this list into my journal and made the promise to myself that I will write this list every single day for as long as it takes, even when it changes. No time limits, no fear, no (more) self-judgement.