My journey with the word Open has continued to shift this last month in a sort of miraculous way. From the work I have been doing, both with my therapist and with my life coach, I have realized that my resistance towards this word was because I viewed being open as being vulnerable. And vulnerability and I have never exactly been . . . friends. I’ve defined vulnerability as weakness. As failure. As something to protect myself against.
All that is changing, though. These days I think about being open (or vulnerable, take your pick) as a gift. And the remarkable thing is that it’s a gift that isn’t just for me but is also for others. My family. My colleagues. My readers. When I allow myself to be open and share with all of you the things that have happened to me and the lessons I have learned from those things it allows us to connect. I mean, I sure as hell hope you never have a spouse get hit by a car while mowing the lawn. And yet, when I write about that and share with you all of the feelings that followed, the panic attacks, the helplessness, the fear, maybe then you take that and relate it to something in your life. And maybe you learn from it and use it in a way that makes things better for you. Maybe my traumatic experiences (and there have been more than a few) and my recovery from them can help you understand your life better.
That’s the dream, anyway.
Last month I wrote about watching and waiting for what comes next. I’m still very much in that space but I think some of what comes next is starting to formulate in my head. And I think it’s all about being open to sharing my stories . . . all of my stories . . . with you.