6. Vulnerability Hangover

Only a week ago I promised you the writing journey, so here it is.

First things first, writing is therapy. Welcome to my writing. It is part therapy, part excruciating vulnerability by making it public. I have been hiding for a long time. Not just publicly, but from myself. Afraid of my own shadows. Afraid of being seen — even seen by myself.

Secondly, I am terrified of being abandoned for experiencing negative emotions. This has become clear to me to the point that I can now notice it when it happens. Queue, therapy.

My last post featured negative emotions like fatigue, exhaustion & swear words. I hoped to connect with others through humor who also experience the struggle of parenthood. As I wrote part 1 of my essay on toddlerhood, I was cackling aloud, because I find myself funny. I am easily amused. So I assumed that other people would find my post funny.

Soon after I posted it, people began responding with sincerity, not with humor. I started to recoil. Brene Brown calls this a “vulnerability hangover”.

“This is not how I wanted people to respond,” I thought. “I’m just joking!” I’m shouting at the ‘care’ emojis posted on facebook. “No, I’m really actually fine,” I want to respond defensively.

Why did people take me so seriously, I wondered. I mean, it’s a good thing that people take me seriously. Sometimes that’s hard to come by.

But I wanted my humor to mask the struggle. To live on the surface a little more with those emotions than for anyone to really feel them FOR ME. I wanted to connect to their emotions, but instead people were feeling mine.

“I don’t want your pity,” I seethed and stuffed the feeling back down into my throat.

As I type, I am laughing here, thinking I am being humorous. But I stop myself, realizing I am masking my own feelings from myself, which apparently the reader already sees through. I am much more comfortable laughing at myself than feeling what I actually feel.

Which is embarrassment.

Like being naked.

And seen.