A Vulnerable Little Goldilocks

Being vulnerable is incredibly difficult for me. 

That may seem like the silliest sentence ever for me to utter, since I'm sitting here writing my personal thoughts and feelings in a more-public-than-I-would-like setting with who-knows-who reading it. But that's a fact I have to embrace: I put myself out there whenever I grace this blog with my presence. I willingly, of my own free will, write down what's going on in my head and push "publish" for the masses to find and read it. 

As much as I do write about things that are troubling me, making me happy, or surprising me, I do keep plenty of things to myself. Revealing an excessive amount of what I'm thinking scares me; it fills me with a dread that walking out of my house naked would evoke. So I reveal just enough to make myself feel better without causing fits of fear. 

It's like the Goldilocks phenomenon: reveal too little about yourself and you won't help yourself, plus no one will care; reveal too much about yourself and you cross the overly personal line; but reveal just enough to keep everyone appeased, including yourself, and you're golden. 

But all of this doesn't make vulnerability easy for me in the real world. I keep some things so bottled up, so internalized, that they've grown to be a part of me. And not only do they frequently swell to the surface in hopes of being recognized, but they proceed to stab me in the joints and take over my entire being. 

These beings, these bottles of emotion, pain, regret, doubt and anger, bob up and down in the pit of my stomach. They lurch side-to-side during different events and life happenings. They tickle my lungs, tricking them into rapidly opening and closing, inducing a shortness of breathe. They rattle around in this thick skull of mine, dancing off brain waves and cursing every thought, every notion. 

It's through this circus that I've discovered I have some underlying, deeply rooted issues that I haven't allowed myself the proper time or effort to work though. 

I was told today -- after I texted one of my closest friends with an unrational, eyes-brimming-with-tears text -- that she believes I have a fear of abandonment. 

This is true. 

She went on to tell me she thinks I'm afraid to feel vulnerable, and for once in my whole life, I am completely vulnerable because I feel differently than I ever have before. 

This is also true. 

While writing these words and putting them on "paper", I won't lie that my chest tightened. Those beings once again clasped their meaty little hands around my insides and closed their fists with purpose. 

And it's because she's right. Those two points are entirely, 100-percent true. And yet, I've never admitted it outright. I've never disclosed these fears to anyone, not even a piece of paper. I'm sure that it's been portrayed in some subconscious fashion over the years in my writing, in my tone or in my behavior, but to finally admit it is terrifying. 

Here's where the vagueness comes into play, and for that, I'm sorry. These feelings stem from the fact that I've let someone else's past influence my present. I am unable to let go of certain notions, as stupid as they may be, and although they are not completely unwarranted, they have been lovingly addressed. 

But I'm scared of losing what I have. 
I'm scared of the past repeating itself. 
And I'm scared to allow myself to lose myself entirely in what I have now. 

Like I said, vulnerable is not my strong suit. 

I honestly don't know how to address these deep-rooted issues. Is admitting them enough? Is talking about them openly a solution? I don't know. I wish, more than anything, that I had the answers. 

For now, I will focus on what my friend told me in response to our mutually-exclusive discovery: "Don't run from this. Embrace it. It's telling you something and teaching you... even if you don't know what that something is yet. You have control over your thoughts though, which is the cool part! The way you attach/detach yourself from your thoughts can change the situation." 


- A