Thank you for being vulnerable.

This is a phrase I hear frequently in response to my musings here…and especially since I embarked on my cancer journey. When I posted a couple weeks about Happy Endings and how there’s no shame in it being hard, I was inundated with comments, private messages, and emails, all expressing that same sentiment: thank you for being vulnerable.

But what does it mean to be vulnerable? And what does it not mean? That’s something David and I were talking about after the responses began rolling in.

See, I’ve always operated on the philosophy that, as a writer, if I’m not being vulnerable in both my fiction and my nonfiction musings here on my website, then it’s not worth it. Vulnerability is what allows for connection. Vulnerability is what invites you in. And only when hearts are stripped bare can they be moved. The stories–true or fictional–that have changed my life forever are the ones that pull me in deep, make me feel things I’ve never felt before or give voice to feelings I’ve never been able to express. They’re the ones that make me go, “YES, THAT!” or “Whoa, really? Wow, I’ve never seen it that way…”

When I’m writing novels, I certainly haven’t lived through most of the things I put my characters through–but I make myself feel it along with them. I dig down until it hurts, until I’ve fully planted myself in their situation. Their aches and fears and losses, their joys and victories and hopes all need to be mine, if I want them to them be yours. Sometimes that’s hard. Other times, that’s easy.

But it’s different here, where I’m writing my own reflections, my own life, my own lessons, my own pains and griefs and challenges. My own hopes and fears and wonders. Here, I can’t hide behind “Well, it’s only fiction” if someone doesn’t like what I have to say. And of course not everyone is going to like what I have to say…but at the same time, I never seek controversy. What do I seek?

Dialogue
Introspection
Self-awareness
Empathy
Resonance

As David and I were talking about this the other week, I said something about how I don’t want to be transparent about everything–I mean, no one needs to know how many times I ran to the bathroom after a particular round of chemo, right? But he replied with something that really struck me. “Transparency is not the same thing as vulnerability.”

I believe my response was something along the lines of, “Interesting. Say more.”

We were in the car at the time, so he drew my attention to a particular yard we drive past on this particular drive that makes me cringe every time I look at it. Because this yard is FULL of political posters. Very large signs proclaiming this person’s preferred candidate, with some not-so-savory ones against his not-preferred candidate as well. David said, “That guy’s yard, all those signs–that’s transparent. You know exactly how he feels about politics. Would you call it vulnerable?”

I didn’t even have to hesitate. “No. I’d call it aggressive.”

And vulnerability and aggression do not mix. Which is why this thought was so striking.

We live in an age of outrage, where people, both on social media and then now even in person, are very vocal about their opinions. But those opinions are rarely presented with vulnerability. They’re transparent…but aggressive. They’re presented in a way that says, “Disagree with me, I dare you.” Or perhaps, “If you have any intelligence, you’ll agree.”

Very open…very out-there…very transparent.

But not vulnerable.

What, then, makes something vulnerable? What is it that vulnerability does differently? I think, for one thing, that where transparency presents strength, vulnerability is also honest about weakness. Where transparency shares one’s stance on something, vulnerability also shows one’s struggles with something. Where transparency puts your feelings out there, vulnerability invites everyone in.

There’s nothing inviting about those aggressive statements of opinion, is there? I can say in all honesty that when I see a business proclaiming their political leanings–whichever leaning that is–it makes me not want to do business there. Because I’m not interested in having someone else’s opinions foisted on me, even if I agree with them. That’s not an invitation–it’s a shout. I want to be invited into conversations. I want to have real dialogue on what matters. I want to know that what we say to each other will be thoughtfully considered, not used to label or brand.

This is what vulnerability seeks to do. Not to say “This is what I think” as a statement of fact…but to say “This is what I’ve been thinking about” as a message of ongoing consideration. Not to say “This is what I know” but rather “This is what I’m learning.” Vulnerability isn’t about the simple, but about the process of working through complexities. It’s about letting other people into that process.

I am keenly aware as I post updates about my health that I want to be honest and open, but not just any kind of honest and open. I want to be the kind that resonates with whatever you are going through. Whether it’s cancer or a chronic illness or an emotional struggle or watching a loved one go through something, whether it’s something you’ve already been through or are walking through now or will deal with in the future. I don’t just want you to watch my journey and feel sorry for me. I want to invite you to walk it with me. That means knowing the struggles, yes, but in a way that gives voice to your own. I want you to laugh with me so that you remember to laugh when it’s you. I want you to cry with me so that you know it’s okay to cry when it hurts. I want you to see the hope in my journey so that you recognize it in your own. And I want you to know that when you reply and share your own struggles, that is the most precious gift you could give.

I’ve long operated on that philosophy of “Words are only worthwhile when they’re vulnerable.” It’s true for me now more than ever. And the beautiful thing? When I share my heart and hear that it touched yours, when people reach out every week to say that my way of handling this is inspiring and encouraging, it’s fuel to keep walking worthy of the call of Christ. To keep being vulnerable. To keep inviting people in.

Because when you do, you find that the whole journey changes. It becomes a lot less contentious, less stressful, less worthy-of-complaint…and a whole lot more edifying. And I don’t know about you, but that’s the only kind of journey I’m interested in. How blessed we are, then, that we can choose to make any journey THAT kind of journey. All it takes is knowing what kind of “open” we need to be.