On Shame and Vulnerability. Or Really Hard Things God is Teaching Me

I should have seen it coming.  I asked for it, really.  It started with “Daring Greatly” by Brene Brown.  I’ve heard such good things about this book and suggested it to book club. 

I cracked open the book, fully prepared to be zapped again and again with resonating truth punches.  I expected this book on shame and vulnerability to pierce me, shake me, astound me with self-realization after self-realization.

Instead I found myself merely nodding in agreement with the first few chapters.  It wasn’t that I didn’t find what Dr. Brown was saying to be absolutely true.  They just felt like truths my heart already knew.  I didn’t feel called to live any sort of way terribly different from how I was living.  At one point I found myself thinking, hmmm, well I guess I have this whole vulnerability and shame thing down.  I’ve graduated.  Score.

And what cometh after pride, pals?  The fall.  That’s what.

I won’t go into details but I will say that mere days after graduating myself out of vulnerability and shame school I found myself in the middle of a conversation that had me feeling so raw and exposed that I relapsed all the way back to pre-K.  I was vulnerable in the truest way and I didn’t deal with it particularly well.  I dug up decade past hurts all while feeling so naked and ashamed for having such a visceral reaction.  Maybe I didn’t have this whole vulnerability and shame thing down after all.

What happened next boils down to this: God started teaching me some frustrating things about myself.  For years and years I’d seen the story one way and suddenly God opened my whole heart wide open and showed me the other side.  For years I held on indignantly to the notion that I had been wronged and gently, gracefully God showed me I was wrong. 

I felt the shame I thought I’d long conquered.  I was supremely embarrassed and uncomfortable. 

I found myself at a crossroad.  I sensed God had work to do.  Work that would require me to have awkward conversations, voice uncomfortable truths, admit risky and vulnerable realities to myself, to God and to others.  It was the kind of stomach twisting work I typically avoid.  I could allow God to do the work, and face my insecurities, fears and vulnerability.  Or I could shut myself off, push God away and forget it all.

I had a moment with God where I imagined myself holding my heart out to him.  It was kinda mangled, broken and in obvious need of repair.  I held it in my hands and just whined “fiiiiix it!” like my kids do when their Lego creations come undone.

So we did the work, God and I, faced the fears, said the words, mended the heart. 

“I stood there saved- surprised to be loved!

God made my life complete

When I placed all the pieces before Him

…

God rewrote the text of my life

When I opened the book of my heart to his eyes”*

And here’s what I learned:  When you stay open to the uncomfortable work of God, when you remain vulnerable with him, when you give him your broken, mangled heart and tell him to “fix it,” He does.  It feels gross and embarrassing and like everyone in the world can see your whole inner dialogue displayed on your forehead.  They can’t. And the One who can is safe.

When you open up and have the hard conversations, when you allow yourself to be vulnerable and exposed in the presence of others you are strengthening the ties of your relationships, deepening the roots of your community and softening the landing spot of the next hard conversation.

And in fresh ways God reminded me of the truth I knew so well I forgot I still needed to practice it: vulnerability brings you closer.  Telling hard self-truths and receiving them in love are perhaps the most bonding acts two people can participate in.

Perhaps that fall wasn’t so bad after all.

*From 2 Samuel 22:20-25 in The Message translation.