What If We Stopped Running From Ourselves?

As much as I might be lauded for my vulnerability, I’m not always comfortable with my vulnerability.

I tend to operate in extremes. There are times when I’m completely swallowed by my emotions—pulled into depths so intense I lose any sense of direction. It is all consuming. This is where I feel the most vulnerable. Few people get to witness this version of me, and no one can rescue me from it (except maybe a trained professional). It’s the part of myself I struggle to accept. I can’t hear my intuition because my inner critic grows so loud. So I try to push those parts away, insisting that this can’t be who I am. I tell myself I’m stronger than this. I should be stronger than this. 

I can trace that line of thinking directly back to childhood, where vulnerability wasn’t exactly welcomed. There was little space for big feelings in my house—unless they were happy or angry ones. What lived inside me was an unrelenting longing for tenderness, care, and attention that fueled my sensitivity. Still, my tears were often met with discomfort, intolerance, or ridicule, especially growing up with two older brothers (not for the faint of heart). That response only deepened the hurt over time, until it became shame.

I was “too sensitive”—and I understood early on that wasn’t a compliment.

So, I did what so many children do: I traded authenticity for acceptance, both within my family and out in the world. Vulnerability and sensitivity became traits I needed to manage, control, or, better yet, conceal. The same went for many of my soft, tender desires—they were quietly tucked away, deemed too much, inconvenient, and fragile for the spaces I moved through.

Naturally, I became masterful at keeping a distance between myself and my emotions. In therapy, when I recount painful moments from the past, sometimes I feel strangely detached—like I’m narrating someone else’s story. I tell it all matter-of-factly, without much emotional charge. It’s as if I’m observing from a safe distance: able to see the forest for the trees, full of perspective and measured in my storytelling.

One morning, recently, in that liminal space between sleep and waking—a place where messages often come to me—I heard this quiet thought rise up: We spend so much time trying to control things instead of just letting them be. 

I’m an anxious person whose life has been shaped by the need for control at all times. But the more I reflect on my life and all the different experiences that have shaped who I am, the more I realize that we receive the lessons that are necessary for the evolution of our soul. 

The most important and fulfilling work has been learning how to integrate these different parts of me (thanks, IFS therapy!). How do I love the parts of me that I’ve had to banish? How do I show myself patience and compassion? These are not buzzwords. There is real growth on the other side of sitting with and observing the feelings that we try to run from out of fear of being overwhelmed or engulfed. We can learn to support ourselves in moving through those uncomfortable or often excruciating moments in the ways we sometimes wish others could show up for us. These days, I am way more skilled at riding the waves of emotion without being pulled under.

I’ve finally landed in a place where I can not only appreciate my vulnerability but I clearly see it for the gift that it is—and why it makes me exactly who I am. It is where authenticity radiates from. It’s knowing that I’m strong enough to stand in those feelings, even if it makes other people uncomfortable, even if they’re inconvenient for others, even if people don’t understand why I’ve shared my feelings, and most certainly even if it means “scaring” someone away. 

It’s easy to believe that our feelings and vulnerability might scare people off—especially if we learned that from those who are supposed to love us unconditionally. But in truth (and this has been shown to me time and time again), it’s often our vulnerability and authenticity that draw the right people—and the right opportunities—closer. 

And no, it doesn’t mean we have to bare it all or abandon ourselves. Boundaries matter. We should always protect what’s sacred. But what vulnerability does require is a willingness to accept ourselves and be firm in our truth—the beautiful parts and the messy, uncomfortable ones. Because if we can’t offer that kind of acceptance to ourselves, how can we ever expect it from anyone else?

 So, to kick off Mental Health Awareness Month, I invite you to sit with a part of yourself that feels vulnerable or even intolerable—the part that’s longing to be seen, heard, and connected with. You don’t have to fix it. Just be with it. Let it know it’s not too much.

It's my favorite time of year because I love curating this giveaway filled with some of my favorite feel-good products (and a few that I've been curious to try) to celebrate the joy of taking care of you. It’s my way of saying thank you for being part of the FWD JOY community💛 

Each week in May, one lucky winner will receive this bundle of self-care treasures (+2 books from this month's featured guests!)

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