How vulnerability was kicking my ass….

This is not about triumphant, neither is it linear. Instead it reflects a work in progress. A person in progress. It reflects truth, as I’ve experienced it, about the thing being laid bare. 

The idea of being delicate eluded me for a long time. It felt as if strong, independent, no-nonsense could only existed in the absence of delicate. Being tall, with “big” feet, the world often made it clear those were ‘manly’ features. One specific childhood warning stands out, it goes a little something like this…when you begin having sex don’t sleep around, because if the size of your feet is any indication then your private parts will be just as big. This is a true story. A very stern warning from well-meaning adult women in my life. I surmise it was their intention to brace me for the reality that is life, at least life as they know it. 

This experience, of not being seen as delicate, continued into adulthood, early 20s. I recall being told on many occasions while trying on shoes at local stores that a size 10 shoe – or above – was “special order”, not something they carry in store. It was almost embarrassing to ask for a 10 sometimes, it felt like an unspoken shame if your feet weren’t size 7 or 8. For this reason, I used to pray my feet got no bigger than 10, because the embarrassment of being told your size isn’t in store – and would need to be special ordered – was painful. We all struggle with ideas of self, especially as young adults, and sometimes as old adults if I’m being transparent. If I’m being honest, as we evolve and continue to change, the struggle becomes how new versions of ourselves fit into society’s existing framework…and whether that’s even possible. 

Being “pink” and delicate with a partner took me time (and by time, I mean years) to understand, accept and subsequently practice. It may be one of the reasons romantic relationships didn’t always happen easily for me. I first heard the term pink from Wendy Williams, yes you read that right – she is one of my guilty pleasures! Years ago, during one of her banters, she mentioned being pink as synonymous with delicate. I liked the term, so I use it from time to time. Any who, my journey as it relates to being delicate and vulnerable became more hopeful only after increasing my awareness and intentionally changing the way I thought about this integral area of my life. Practicing vulnerability and being delicate with myself, and subsequently with others, has certainly evolved from a dismal space but not without a few (often painful) lessons. 

• Not everyone can create a holding space for you to be delicate. I used to assume I could just practice being vulnerable with the people in my circle. Afterall, I trusted them and thought they were good people. There is very little connection – if any at all- between someone being a good person and their capacity to hold space for you in vulnerable times. I would often get rejected after exposing something delicate about myself. And at times be disappointed, angry, sad or all of the above as a result. As I processed this with one of my sisters, she reminded me, you can’t be delicate with erebody!!! Even the people in your small circle. The ego wouldn’t allow me to accept this. In my mind, how do you get better at practicing vulnerability if you’re not actually being vulnerable? It took me some time to understand what she meant. Even our most reassuring sounding boards and safest security blankets have moments when they don’t have the capacity to hold our shit. Not to mention the newcomers to your circle whom you’re just getting to know and are just getting to know you. For a host of reasons people aren’t always able to hold space for us to be delicate, and that’s fine. The point is being able to decipher this- through inquiry and checking the temperature, connect with a few people you trust and if all else fails connect with a professional safety blanket with whom you can be vulnerable and pink.

• I had to first see myself as delicate. I HAD TO FIRST SEE MYSELF AS DELICATE. Whew Lord. To some this may sound obvious, but if I’m being honest. This is not easy work. I can’t tell you how much work this took/takes because it is indeed a practice in both how you see yourself and how you teach others to see and treat you. That first part is a dozy. The danger of the “strong black woman” moniker is real, like fighting against your DNA real. At least that’s what it feels like sometimes. Being strong all the time, doesn’t allow much space for vulnerable and delicate. It just doesn’t. That’s the part most people don’t tell you or explore very much- if at all. Part of the reason, I think, it was so hard to see myself as delicate is the constant societal expectation of stoic unwavering strength from me – a black woman. I surmise another factor that impacted by ability to practice vulnerability was that I hadn’t done the work of understanding my own perspective, the root of my emotions and resistance, how my childhood relationships informed how I view and treat myself, how I reinforced certain coping skills from childhood in my adult relationships. The layers can be exhausting. And quite honestly, I understand why some people chose not to do this internal work. It’s painfully non-linear and incredibly uncomfortable. Although, when it’s all said and done- it is the only work we must do. Everything else is a distraction. As we become more conscious of ourselves, we intuitively become more conscious of others, more conscious of the interactions that underly our connections.

• You must let go. Principally, let go of other people’s perception of you. And yes, if you’re looking around saying to yourself – I don’t care what other people think of me. LIES! Sowwwwwwiii, didn’t mean to yell  We all care. And that’s normal. We should care what our fellow human thinks of us, after all, we need mutual trust between us and our fellow inhabitants; enough trust so we can live in communal space and time. So, yes, we all care what other’s think of us – no matter what the current “no care” trend says. The difference I’m referring to lies in degree and impact. Ultimately, the validation and stamp of delicacy is primarily internal, not external. There is an unspoken, but very potent perception, that if you are not of a certain height, weight, look and/or “decorum” or status/class, you aren’t worthy of being considered delicate. Some may refute this statement, and I’ll remind you this is my experience, and observation of, the world. The world we live in often tells women, if we’re aren’t petite and traditionally pretty and polite, being delicate isn’t for you. The former at times more emphasized than the latter two. I see it play out every day, both in celebrity world *cue recent Meg Thee Stallion incident* and real life *cue recent first date when the guy jokingly referred to my feet as boats*.  – SB: There was no second date. The reality is, none of it matters until you consciously let go of society’s perception of you and begin to value how you see yourself and consequently how you express yourself in the world. Sometimes this process of letting go can feel like being unhitched from an umbilical cord. Absolutely frightening. Trust me when I say, letting go is central to survival. Much like the separation that happens when you squeeze out the birth canal and the only lifeline you’ve known- at least until that point – is severed.

• Keep practicing. The ego in me wants to think that being vulnerable is one and done. Totally not true. Practicing vulnerability gets easier with consistency, but it doesn’t always feel easy, at least not yet. In a world that’s constantly telling me how to exist, what to think, how to look, how to feel, how life should go and what is best – the practice of living my own truth and exposing vulnerabilities has become more like a protest than anything else. So, I’ve embedded this practice in every aspect of my life; be it work, friendships, dating, everywhere- I’m sprinkling it on everything! What I’ve learned is, the practice of being vulnerable must be as constant as the external messages that I’m not. 

It took me a while to write and share this piece. I surmise because practicing vulnerability is something I’m still working on. For me, practicing being delicate can sometimes feel like sticking your arm out for constant slaps from a wooden stick, with honey on the ends. Aggressive visual, I know. 

In some small way, my intention is for this piece of work to shed some light – dim or other- on the normalcy of this type of work and share a few tools that may help along the journey. 

The current pandemic (not to mention racial unrest that I haven’t explored here because it warrants a stand-alone discussion) has created a tremendous space of homogenous expressed need. A space where our need for one another is laid bare, our lack of control over life itself has become crystal clear. The shared experience of “forced vulnerability” as a collective is as apparent as our need for tutorials on remote learning – for kindergartners. There’s no time like the present to flex those delicate muscles.  

Until next time, walk gud’

K.H