Watching a talk recently, I realised that I am not a safe space. Whenever my Sir would try to open up to me and show any signs of vulnerability, I would emotionally attack Him. A part of me was aware of doing this, and would internally cringe at this seeming “need” to do so, however, I couldn’t understand why.
Now I understand. It was fear. My own fear. Fear that if He wasn’t “strong,” Who would hold everything together? Who would hold me together? Who would keep us safe? Who would keep me safe? If He didn’t have control of Himself, would I be safe with/from Him? This fear part of me would be sickened by his “weakness,” so, I would lash out and weaponise His vulnerabilities, and throw them in His face.
Ouch.
This created a cycle of heart crushingly wondering why He withdrew from me when all I so desperately wanted was connection.
My inability to sit with my own discomfort at another’s pain or fear or weakness or failures, meant that I could not be a safe space for someone to bring those things to me. The one person I purported to be for Him. Home. Thankfully He is sensitive enough that His emotions transpire quite physically, so I am able to very much see through His actions of physically withdrawing, how much my behaviour was affecting Him emotionally.
As someone who couldn’t imagine anything worse than hurting those I love, to realise that I am actually not only hurting them, but betraying them, is a very painful pill to swallow. It’s painful to realise how much damage can be done before awareness points out what we’re doing. Attacking someone who is choosing to be vulnerable is the worst betrayal I can think of.
Now with awareness, the work begins of learning. Learning that discomfort is vulnerability. It is my own vulnerability that I am afraid of when someone else shows up in these spaces. Hating the discomfort of being witness to their pain and fear and weakness and failures, without being able to “fix” or “control.”
If I’m so busy trying to deny and hide from the enormity of all of that, there is no way I’m even present with them. I’m too busy playing dodgeball… or perhaps more aptly, blame game… rather than simply sitting in my discomfort and owning it, to allow for them to sit in theirs and not feel alone. Allowing us both to be vulnerable together. Recognising that it’s not about survival… it’s about us. Understanding that it’s not about me. His fear does not make me unsafe. His pain does not make me responsible. His weakness does not make me vulnerable. His failures are not mine to own. It occurred to me this morning that despite, I think, the twisted idea we seem to have around it within society, self-esteem is actually being able to feel internally safe within ourselves regardless of what is occurring in our external environment. And that can only come from doing our own work. Nothing else.
As Brenè Brown so beautifully says:
“Show me a woman who can hold space for a man in real fear and vulnerability, and I’ll show you a woman who’s learned to embrace her own vulnerability and who doesn’t derive her power or status from that man. Show me a man who can sit with a woman in real fear and vulnerability and just hear her struggle without trying to fix it or give advice, and I’ll show you a man who’s comfortable with his own vulnerability and doesn’t derive his power from being Oz, the all-knowing and all-powerful.”
