#vulnerabilityisbrave

[tanyaryanmusic]

MasterDebater.

I love to debate. I truly do.

My favourite debate partner is my dad. Because it’s always safe. Meaning, I know that we’re both going to walk away from the conversation with more expanded perspectives and a healthy readjustment to our mental reflexes - and not with sore spots, resentment and emotional wounds. 

I can be a pretty passionate debater. A lot of people are threatened by my enthusiasm and misinterpret it for defensiveness, an elevated emotional state, or anger. Which isn’t the case at all! I just figure, if you’re going to argue for what you believe, then you better put skin in the game.  

Another reason my dad is my favourite debate partner is because he’s always truly interested in my point of view. He asks stimulating questions with the intention of truly listening to my answer before processing it and making his retort. I feel I (really try to) reciprocate that.

The worst debates are ones in which the opposing party has no intention or interest in the other side of the debate and simply wishes to reiterate their own belief. The whole reason debates are fun is because you still can walk away with your initial belief - but through the debate, you’ve had a healthy dose of banter to expand even your own opinions on why you hold that belief. If you’re not willing to explore the other side, then I kind of think your faith in that belief must be sort of limited if you’re avoiding the exposure to some inquiry.

When I’m not debating with my dad, I have to cool my jets a little. Most people aren’t prepared to take a heartily enthusiastic (too enthusiastic) jump into contrasting opinions. And it’s a semi-bummer. But I get over it. Because some people just aren’t ready to be as excited as I am, and that’s okay.  

However, the one debate I have had a number of times with various ‘opponents’ - I feel needs to be addressed in full-on Tanya-Ryan-debate-mode.

I have had a handful of people try to tell me that vulnerability is synonymous with weakness; and I couldn’t disagree more. Naturally, in each particular circumstance I retorted in debate and it wasn’t very well received, which is totally cool! But I really feel the need to get into this.

The argument that I’ve heard is that exposing your self in such a way that makes you vulnerable, is to appear weak; and perhaps that’s the case if you’re solely considering this from the perspective that would indicate your extensive participation in war-strategizing themed video games. But if we’re looking at vulnerability from the whole day-to-day experience perspective. Vulnerability is an absolute indication of strength, integrity, honesty and humility.

If you were someone who decided consciously or unconsciously that you would never be vulnerable, it’s sort of a ticket down easy street. It means you will never have to put yourself on the line. You never have to face the unknown. You don’t have to develop a relationship with courage or bravery. Being invulnerable is easy. It’s impersonal and safe. It means never having to face rejection or criticism. You’d never ask someone on a date. Or say I love you. You wouldn’t do any form of public-speaking; or share any kind of personal information or art. You wouldn’t share your beliefs, opinions and personal expressions. You wouldn’t ever have to apologize or admit you’re wrong.

I mean, technically some of the listed examples would vary from person to person on how vulnerable each item was perceived by that unique individual. But essentially, I’m aiming to conclude that vulnerability is a form of facing fear. I’ll use my own examples.

I have never said I love you first (except ONE time). Because it was safer to wait for someone else to say it first. Then the ball was in my court. I could decide what’s what and I’d be safe not having to deal with the crippling rejection that comes from an empty “You’re okay too.” (That’s a slight inside joke for my dad, but it doesn’t impact the understanding of this story without knowing the joke. So we’re good.) The time I did say I Love You first hardly even counts because I knew my words would be reciprocated. The day prior to my confession of love, I had basically cornered him when he was drunk and skillfully and not-so-subtly beat around the bush to the point that I had enough evidence to conclude that my feelings would be returned. So I totally dodged vulnerability in this particular case. (BUT HE STILL MARRIED ME. WIN.)

I remember the first time I went to publicly perform a song that I had written based on very intimate and personal experience. I was mortified at the idea of singing this diary entry in front of people. WTF. I can’t do that! To get myself to do it, I pretended in my mind that it wasn’t about me. It was about someone else. It was like reciting fiction. No problem.

I am an expert vulnerability dodger.

I have hidden my opinions, experiences, beliefs - because I don’t want to face the potential criticism that might come with outing them. (Slowly coming out of the proverbial closet here, one blog at a time.) I have hidden tears, defeat, and struggle. I have avoided conversations, been passive aggressive and found my way around undesirable subject matter. And boy oh boy have I been effective in my ability to wiggle myself out of some conflicts I didn’t want to have.

And sure, I sing on stage. And that’s pretty vulnerable … but it has taken me years (and years) to practice NOT pretending my songs are about someone else. To own them as mine. My own story. That might actually have been one of my major movements forward in vulnerability - and it’s only been happening in the last 3 years. It’s probably unrealistic to think you can get through life without everhaving to be vulnerable. But I definitely think living with intentional vulnerability on a regular basis is a really powerful experience.

That’s the thing about being an expert vulnerability-dodger… you start to see how you’re really limiting your depth. The deepest human connections happen through vulnerability. Some of the most amazing performances, speeches, relationships, and acts of bravery came from an individuals ability to be entirely and unequivocally vulnerable. Anytime something or someone has truly moved you, I guarantee vulnerability was apart of the equation. That person let you into their story, their heart and their life for a period of time. That’s some seriously powerful shit.

You can try to convince me all the live long day that holding it together and toughing it out is braver - and I will simply not agree with you because I’ve BEEN the person that toughs it out. I’ve ‘held it together’. And all it is, is a form of hiding. It’s the ability to avoid appearing helpless or needing help. It’s entirely egocentric. It’s not even real. You are simply wanting people to believe this is who you are. But it’s not. You are hiding. And that is so not brave.

Hey man. I’m not criticizing you. I AM you. Takes an invulnerable to know one.  

I’m just saying I know that if I’m being truly brave - and any time I’ve been truly brave - I’ve exposed something. I have opened myself up in a new way.  Which is terrifying. And when you intentionally do something terrifying. You chose to pursue an action that honours your heart and your soul - knowing potential consequences of this action - and you do it anyway? That is BRAVE AF.

So if you want another word for vulnerability, I’m afraid that ‘weakness’ just won’t cut it.

It’s seriously brave.

@ me. I dare you.

[lolahsoul]

Giving Thanks to @mstonitalove for letting us know how much she loved receiving her lolahSoul Jewelry and how it came right on time for her Spirit Love. #DivineTimeNotMine #LookAtGod #JewelryIsMoreThanArt #BeingFearless is #MoreThanWords #VulnerabilityIsBrave #Jewelry #JewelryArtisan #ArtisanLife #Metalsmith #GivingThanks #WearableArt

[theresalwayslipstick]

Poison Ivy: A villain in need of grace?

So I’ve had this rash. TMI-I know, but bear with me. It’s a good story.

  About two weeks ago I found these small patches of inflamed skin on my pelvis and my upper thigh. I thought maybe it was heat rash and decided to ignore it believing it would go away. Avoidance always works, right? Wrong. Slowly, over a week it got bigger and bigger. And then it began to spread and jumped to my chest. And not only was it spreading, it began to itch like crazy-I mean like I have bruises up and down my body from the intensity of the itching kind of itch.

 I began to get really worried when the rash started to develop what looked like hives and became the size of Texas. Literally. Begrudgingly, I called my doctor and made an appointment. After looking me over she said she thought I had a fungal infection. I was grossed out. For those of you who know me—I am an extremely clean, organized and probably overly-hygienic person. Somehow “fungal infection” made me feel “dirty”. However, she said this was “normal” in the summer due to the heat/sweat/etc. She gave me a cream and sent me on my way with hopes of it showing improvement in 24-72 hours. 72 hours later I was back in her office. I had bumps on my arms, hands, legs, armpits, and back. The itching continued to terrorize me, I wasn’t sleeping and, at this point, I was beginning to think that I might be dying of cancer or Loopis (thank you WedMD). She took another look at me and said, “You probably aren’t going to like this, but it might be scabies.” I didn’t know what scabies were, but I soon found out. (Thanks again WebMD for the horrifying images and overload of information). I was thoroughly grossed out. I thought “where in the hell did I get that?!” The tanning bed? (Yes, moment of shame for those of you who are anti-tanning bed). Camping? I had gone recently…could I have gotten it in the woods? Who the hell knows. I just know that I had to wash everything I own, vacuum my furniture and rugs thoroughly, and rub what is basically an insecticide all over my body, all in the hopes that the itching and now burning would soon subside. I did this twice in two days.

  But it kept getting worse. I decided to go to the dermatologist. I got undressed and put on the drape. They quickly inspected all my infected areas, looked me in the eye and said they had NO idea. They did say that they didn’t think it was a fungal infection or scabies. What? I mean I guess I was relieved that there wasn’t an 8-legged bug crawling through the upper layers of my epidermis but not knowing somehow felt worse. So we did a biopsy. Turns out, I have poison ivy. My dog Maggie likely got into it on one of our hikes while camping, and we cuddled (because cuddling your dog while camping and sleeping in your tent is cute and I’m in to doing cute things), and bam---3 days later I’m infected. $300 later I have a diagnosis and my third medication with warnings from the doctor that it might make me jittery. I’m telling you, I’ll take jittery over insane itch fest any day of the week!

So where am I going with this? I guess it’s this:

As I went through this process I felt multiple levels of shame. I felt embarrassed and worried about what others might think of me if I told them the truth of what was going on with my body as I discovered each possible diagnosis. I felt like a disgusting cesspool of nauseating diagnoses and couldn’t stand the thought of others seeing me as “disgusting” or watching their faces shift to a look of judgment. I also began to worry about the scars that were forming on my body. They aren’t pretty and I’m not sure whether they will ever go away.

  Then I began to think about the different people I work with and how often we talk about this very thing. Many clients have sat on my couch and confessed to having moments in their lives that have left them layered with shame and fear of judgment. They express a belief that their scars will keep others from loving them and so they choose to keep parts of their story hidden and push others away or hold them at a distance. Many believe that they are too broken or too wounded; that their story is too much or too strange for others to handle. They fear rejection, abandonment, and ridicule. I have felt all of these very same things about pieces of my own story. 

 There are many times during a session when someone begins to cry and says, “I didn’t think I was going to cry. I thought I was stronger and more put together than this.”  My response is always the same: “It’s okay. You are safe here. It is healing to cry and to grieve. It is courageous, not weak, to tell our stories and to own the way that they have shaped us. This room is one of grace and acceptance.” My perspective on life is that while parts of our stories have left scars (and sometimes open gaping wounds), I believe those scars or wounds can teach us things; they can help mold our identities; they have the power to make us stronger, wiser, and more gracious in the way we approach ourselves and others.

  Because of some of my own experiences I find myself more filled with grace for others and thankfully, for myself. In the past two years as I have done my own therapeutic work, I have genuinely started to like myself and I continue to work toward deeply loving myself. I try to share my life story and experiences openly in the hopes that others will feel safe to do the same. That doesn’t mean I’m not scared. Oftentimes I have moments of mild panic when I begin to share the darker or more shameful moments of my life. But then I remind myself that God is bigger than anything I’ve done and that His grace is sufficient for me. If I am honest about my story and willing to share my scars and wounds I am given the opportunity to receive grace from others. I am also reminded again and again that I’m not alone in my brokenness as others share their own stories of hurt, loss, confusion, and pain.

We’re all a scarred, wounded, and broken in different areas. We’re also all capable of receiving healing and grace as we take the steps to be vulnerable with those that we love and trust.  We need to begin to see being vulnerable as a sign of courage-not as a sign of weakness (thank you Brene Brown). I always advise my clients to pick safe people that they’ve have grown to trust and invite them into their story. I had a sweet young girl recently tell me that she was afraid I would be frustrated with her if she didn’t talk about her “issues” right away because that’s what her last therapist did. She said that it’s hard to trust someone you don’t really know. I felt so sad that she had been pushed to dive in before she was ready. So I told her that she could ask me whatever she wanted and I would answer honestly so she could get to know me and trust me. I told her that she is in charge of her story and when and how she shares it. I will never be upset and she has all the time she needs. Taking the step to be courageous may take time. You may need to build trust first. I get that. But by sharing parts of my own story, she began to trust me and open up. You have the power to do the same. Share a story. Hear someone else’s. I promise—it’ll be worth it. And remember, you are not alone. You have done the best you can with what you have had at any given moment. Where you have been does not have to be where you are going. Grace and love are waiting for you.